Fallout: Southern Hospitality
by jasontaylorblogs
Summary: Johnathan was just another young man in a Vault. He was happy there, safe from the remnants of the Great War. When the barrier of steel and electricity comes falling down around him, he's cast out into the nuclear remains of the Southern United States. He doesn't want revenge. He doesn't want adventure. He doesn't want fortune. He wants to survive.
1. Introduction

War. War never changes.

Everyone knows the story of the day atomic fire fell from the sky. Everyone's heard of it, whether they care to remember or not. Everyone feels its effects. Some places were condemned worse than others. The important places—capitals of countries, important resource farms, and military bases—were struck much harder than their neighboring communities.

In the years before the bombs fell, Vault-Tec designed and installed massive underground bunkers to protect the luckiest of the citizens of the United States. Some key locations were blessed with multiple Vaults, while others were left wanting for even one. Washington D.C. and its surrounding areas had a dozen known Vaults scattered about.

In the southern reaches of the United States, the acres of farmland and crumbling cities were deemed much less important than much of the rest of the country. The states of Arkansas, Louisiana, and Mississippi were only left with three Vaults to share between the hundreds of thousands of citizens. If you weren't one of the lucky several thousand chosen, you were forgotten without remorse.

Those who were lucky enough to be chosen by Vault-Tec were spared the destruction and radiation when the bombs fell on that fateful day. On October 23, 2077, the world was drowned in nuclear fire and radiation. The year is 2245, and the screams of war have long since stopped.

But those screams still echo. Because war never changes.


	2. Prologue

**Everything Breaks**

My name is Johnathan Neal. I'm from Vault 95. My family is dead. I have no food or water. I…I…

"Take it easy, Johnny. You won't get anywhere panicking like this."

Take it easy, he says. He keeps saying. He won't stop. I know he's trying to help but it just doesn't work like that! My name is Johnathan Neal. I'm from Vault 95. My family is dead. I'm trapped in this wasteland. I'm gonna die!

How did I get here? These last few hours are one big blur. What went wrong? Why us? The Overseer? Those men in metal armor? Why? I can't understand! I-!

Officer Michael strikes me in the arm with his baton; I snap to attention in an instant. "I know you're frightened but you have to shut up!" he snaps under his breath. "Do you want those things coming back for us?"

"No," I mutter, the fog in my head clearing. I think back as far as I can, running through the day carefully. As Officer Michael sits back on his rock, I ask, "We're gonna survive, right?"

He shakes his head with a sigh. "Can't say for sure kid. Maybe. It's not as bad out here as I thought it would be." He holsters his baton and stares blankly at the small box of InstaMash sitting uselessly on the ground between us.

"Should've grabbed some extra water…" I groan, my stomach churning in agreement.

"There was no time. We're lucky the Overseer had this stashed away, for some odd reason." Officer Michael slides down the rock to the ground, kicking back with some kind of false relaxation. I envy him.

He isn't freaking out, not externally. He isn't crying or screaming or shivering in fear. He's just…an officer. That's all he knows how to be. Damn G.O.A.T.! The G.O.A.T.? That's why I'm alive right now, silly as that sounds. It has to be fate. No, not fate. Luck? Yeah, luck.

"Would it help you to talk it out?" he sighs, sitting upright on his rock. He places one hand on a knee.

I scan him up and down. He isn't my friend; we've had words before in fact. Why does he care? He could leave me to die and sneak away. Why won't he? "No, thanks. I'll be fine," I lie. I distrust him more than I want to vent.

He reaches into a pouch at his side. "Is that so? Listen here Johnny, your screams will get us both killed. You don't want that, do you?" He tosses a small black box at me and it lands at my feet with a dusty thud. "The Overseer saved us, you know. You owe it to him to live."

I can't argue with him; the Overseer died so we could escape. I lift the black box from the ground and turn it over in my hands, undoing the Velcro strap with distracted fingers. As the wrap around the box unfolds, I see a small pad of buttons—keys aligned like a keyboard. My eyes must reveal my uncertainty.

"It's a Pip-Boy 3000 accessory. It lets you take notes without speaking out loud." He watches as I plug the small wire into a slot on my wrist. "I'm only lending it to you so you can write down what you're feeling. I want it back once we get somewhere safe."

Instantly, my Pip-Boy registers the keyboard and switches to the Notes program. A blank screen with a flashing green line greets me, along with the word Help flashing above my Data button. I feel myself smile as I start to type out everything I want to vent.

…

"I assume you know why you're here?" the Overseer chuckled, his legs kicked up on his desk while I sat opposite of him. Officer Michael stood like a professional jackass by the exit, his arms crossed.

I rolled my eyes in annoyance, "What'd I do this time?" Three times in one month had to be a record for any resident under the age of twenty. In my defense, they were all huge misunderstandings!

He laughed, "Surprisingly, nothing! Nothing bad, anyway." His legs fell from the table and his smile disappeared instantly; a small packet of papers landed hard on the top of the desk. At the very top, big bold letters read: 'GENERALIZED OCCUPATIONAL APTITUDE TEST.' My heart sank a little.

"I thought we got our results dropped in our quarters?"

"Normally, you would," he stared at me with his blank, authoritative eyes. "But you are a special case." He slid the packet closer to me and flipped to the very last sheet—a scorecard of sorts. "Of the hundreds of residents that have taken the G.O.A.T. in the last twenty years, you are the first to score high enough to apply for Administration."

Officer Michael scoffed, "I still say it was a fluke. This kid doesn't have the respect or nerves to run the Vault." He always did hate me for some reason, but he didn't even try to hide it then.

"Nevertheless, your results make you the prime candidate to replace me whenever I feel like retiring." The Overseer smiled a creepy, excited smile. His blank eyes almost seemed to glow under the thick black bushes he called eyebrows. "Of course I'll have to show you the ropes. And you'll have to straighten up your act: no more detentions or arrests!"

I began to protest, but Michael's scolding glare silenced me. Instead I mumbled, "So when do we start?" While I didn't like the idea of being in control, I hated the thought that I might be stuck as a janitor or technician even more. Being Overseer seemed like my best bet, really.

I don't quite remember what the Overseer said next with his overly-excited expression. Things happened really fast from there. The entire Vault shook violently as a faint boom echoed around the halls. Even on the top level, we heard the commotion that originated on Level Seven—Cafeteria and Recreational. In seconds the Overseer's personal PA system was cluttered with officers trying to explain the situation.

I remember bits and pieces of what was discussed. The bad things. "The Vault's been breached, Overseer!" Security Chief Puckett called out frantically. "They must've broke through the kitchen supply and worked their way to the caf! I doubt anyone made it out alive!"

My thoughts at that moment were of my little brother and Mother, who I'd just told I would meet in the cafeteria after I was dismissed. I had just told them to go eat without me. They were going to wait.

"What do these intruders want?" the Overseer growled, his face now smothered in fear and anger. "Who are they?"

"Dunno sir! They look like demons, though, with golden eyes and horned faces. Metal suits, I'm guessing. Pre-war Power Armor maybe?" A few loud screams drowned him out for a moment, "…gy weapons, powerful ones!"

"Puckett, you need to evacuate!" Officer Michael shouted into the intercom, hand wrapped around his baton.

"Negative that. There are people down here. Once they escape, I'll—"

The communication turned to static in an instant. The intercom on that side was probably blown up, but I don't know. All I know is that the Overseer didn't hesitate to act. He was at his computer by the time I could blink.

Another violent shake and a slightly louder boom bounced around the Vault. "Overseer, they've breached Level Two! They've cut off access to the elevators! I think they're heading toward you!" Another officer I'd never personally met cried into the PA system, sobs breaking some of her words. The sounds of lasers ripped through the air for a while before static swallowed them up.

By the time the communication broke, the Overseer's desk had been lifted into the air. Underneath it was a dark staircase leading into an even darker tunnel. He stood just in front of us, offering a small bag of things to Officer Michael.

"If they're in the elevators on Level Two, we don't have much time. This is stuff I kept in my footlocker; take it." He all but forced Michael to take it before shoving us toward the stairs. My mind was racing. My heart pounding.

Officer Michael snapped, "Whatever the hell's going on here, I'm not abandoning the Vault! You go, Overseer!" He tried to pass the bag back, but the Overseer shook his head in protest.

"Don't be a fool," he groaned, "If they—whoever they are—don't find my body, they'll know someone escaped the Vault. They'll hunt us down and murder us for sure." With a smile he added, "I stay here, they find me, and you two get to go free. Someone ought to survive, right?"

My thoughts twisted in a knot, so many things trying to come out. I settled on, "Where do we go?" The wasteland outside…what kind of place could it have been? Was it empty or poisonous? Would we become monsters? Stupid thoughts, but they were mine.

"Anywhere but here," he replied coldly. "I've placed a few pre-war outfits in the bag; change clothes as soon as you can and never let anyone know you're from a Vault!" With that, he ushered us down the stairs and flipped a switch, the desk slowly lowering behind us. "The password is 'brotherhood!'"

Silence fell. Aside from the hum of the dim electrical lights that led us down the tunnel, there was no outside influence on my senses. Officer Michael didn't speak. I didn't speak. We just walked mindlessly down the tunnel. When we reached the end, a simple button push released us into a small musty chamber with a massive gear held in place by some kind of hydraulic piston.

Michael entered a password on the only available terminal, and the piston pulled the gear away with the loudest screech I've ever heard. I smelled what I assumed was fresh air for the very first time as faint sunlight poured into the chamber. Taking me by the arm, Michael didn't waste time.

…

"And the rest is history," Michael startles me from my writing, his voice right by my ear. I nearly fall from my rock as I pivot to face him, his indifferent expression scanning my Pip-Boy's screen. "A little dramatized, but accurate."

"Do you mind?" I snap, hunching over the keyboard and screen. "Wasn't privacy the point of the keyboard?"

"Alright kid," he chuckles, "I get we've got bad blood, but it's just us out here now. If you can't trust me, who can you trust?" As I consider the question and how I could respond, he adds, "You're handling this well, by the way. You should be proud. A kid like you ought to be bawling his eyes out."

"Thanks?" I question his motives. But then again, he's right. I should be crying, beating myself up for abandoning my family. I should've died with them, now I'll die out here with an officer and an empty stomach. "What about you?"

"I didn't have any kids, or a wife. Closest thing to family I had was Jacob."

"My dad?"

"Yep. Friends since childhood. Almost brothers. Other than him, there wasn't much for me to lose in there."

He sounds almost relieved to have nothing. It's sad to hear how proud he is of his loneliness. I scoff, "Lucky you." I'm not sure why I can't cry. I tried earlier, but the tears won't come. I'm not angry, either. "Is it wrong that I'm not sad?"

He smiles something close to a warm smile and sighs, "Nah, I don't think so. Your mom wouldn't want you to mourn if it meant dying." He takes the Overseer's bag and dumps the rest of its content on the ground. "You'll have plenty of time to cry when we get somewhere safe."

I hear a faint explosion in the distance, the third since our escape, and flinch to the ground. My hands cradle the back of my head as I sit on the rough ground, my nose buried in my knees. Instinct, maybe?

"Two standard guns, two energy. They all look to be in bad shape. You more comfortable with energy or standard weapons?"

I'm not prepared for the question. The explosion rings in my head and I have to consciously force myself to focus.

My name is Johnathan Neal. I lived in Vault 95. My family is dead. I have no food and barely any water. Those monsters destroyed my home. I want to be safe.

My head clears as I list the things I know for certain. My throat burns as I swallow saliva, saving the small sip of water left in my bottle for when I can't stand it anymore. I turn back toward Officer Michael as he repeats his question.

I think back to my days in the Vault's shooting range. People were given passes to practice firing weapons in the range once a month. In that time, I'd learned two things: how to repair a gun with another gun, and I was much more accurate with lasers than bullets.

"Energy weapons," I reply, confidence in my tone. Of all the residents who took the G.O.A.T. with me, our time in the range showed I was the best.

"Good." He hands me both laser pistols and begins disassembling one of his pistols, a 10mm. "You should fix yours too. I know you can do that."

I nod in agreement and get to work. At least it's something to distract me from the burning in my throat and the tears that won't come…

_Footnote: Level Up!_  
><em>Perk Added: Energy Gun Nut<em>  
><em>Effects: Energy Weapons +10, Repair +5<em>

_Character Traits:_  
><em>Good Natured- You are more attuned to non-combat situations.<em>  
><em>Small Frame- You may be fast, but you certainly aren't sturdy!<em>


	3. Chapter 1

**Everything Dies**

I awake to the sound of intense growling. My heart immediately begins to pound in my chest as my eyes shoot open, the stench of unclean breath filling my nose. As my eyes adjust to the low light of the small cave, I barely make out the silhouette of a four-legged creature standing about a yard from me. My instincts kick in. Before I can fully register the situation, I have my laser pistol aimed at the animal. I reach for the trigger and…

And…

And nothing. I can't squeeze it. I imagine my brother sitting in the Vault cafeteria as the invaders force their way in. I imagine a laser hitting him in just the right spot to let the energy swallow him. He turns to ash.

I can't bring myself to pull the trigger of the pistol in my hands. So I take a deep breath and await my death. I close my eyes tight and brace for an inevitable bite. A loud growl accompanies the pattering of paws.

Pow! Pow! Two shots from a gun and a pathetic whimper. I open my eyes and release my breath. Barely an inch away from me lays the now dead animal. I occupy my thoughts with what kind of animal it is. Some form of dog? Maybe a wolf?

The burning in my throat rips my attention from the animal. I reach for my water without a second's hesitation; I can't save it any longer.

Officer Michael grunts, "Hold off on that, kid." He stops my hand with his own and waves toward the animal. "Let me borrow a couple of energy cells."

I reluctantly screw the cap of my bottle back on and reach into a pocket. I pull two small battery-like objects out and hand them over. "I don't have many."

"Not like you used them anyway," he retorted impatiently, placing one on the ground on either side of the fallen dog. It stings to hear him say it so callously, but it's true. I hesitated.

He scrambles over to his makeshift bed. After running his hands around on the dirt for a few minutes, he returns. He begins to twist a long strip of metal around the dead creature's tail, crumpling the ends of the wire into small balls. He hands me one energy cell.

"I'll need you to touch the positive node of the cell to the wire when I say so. Okay?" He sounds apologetic, betrayed only by his demanding words. I nod. He takes the other cell and touches it to the other end of wire. "Okay. And don't touch the dog's fur."

I do as he instructed, the positive node touching the wire. For a second nothing happens. And almost out of nowhere everything flashes white and burning hair is the only thing I can smell! I fall back in shock and fear as the light fades. Officer Michael immediately drops his cell and draws a small knife from his security vest.

"What was that?" I ask, my nerves settling as I realize I'm safe.

Leaning over the burnt dog's body he gags, "Food."

The word catches me off guard. I lean back onto my rock, disgusted by the thought of eating some random vicious dog. What kind of…? My stomach growls as I try to convince myself not to join Michael, telling me that despite my hang-ups I don't have much of a choice. I can't waste what little water I have on that box of InstaMash, can I?

As I carry on a fight with my thoughts, I listen as he tears the dog apart with his knife. The burnt hair is replaced by cooked meat in the air. My mouth starts to water, easing the burning in my throat slightly. I cave to my instincts.

Kneeling beside him, I watch as he skins the animal, the meat looking cooked to completion from such a short electrical release. "How did you learn to do that?" I ask, half out of curiosity and half concern. Why would a Vault security guard ever need that skill?

"There was always a chance we'd have to evacuate the Vault, so the senior officers were trained in unorthodox ways of surviving." He continued to carve the dog into strips of what looked like jerky, dry and tough to cut. "Any guard on the force for more than five years learned how to do that. There's other stuff too." He handed me a few thick strips of dog meat.

"Th-Thank you," I stammer, not entirely certain I should be thankful for the strange food.

He continues, "It won't taste good, but it'll hold you over until we can get somewhere new." He bites into a particularly thick strip of meat and chews with visible effort. "It should be good for a while, too. We can store it in one of our bottles." He swallows the first bite and immediately struggles with another.

I bite into the smallest of my strips, the taste sending warnings to my brain that I have no choice but to ignore. You can't survive by being a picky eater, after all. I distract myself from the horrible taste by imagining all of the other survival skills they might have learned. I try to consider other ways to make the energy cell microwave trick more effective.

As I sit here churning the meat in my mouth, I stop to think about just how tough surviving in the wastes might be. What if there's no clean water to be found? What if all the food is toxic? I can already feel the effects of the dog meat on me, a strange feeling in my mouth. In this wasteland, are even animals toxic?

I regret not eating breakfast the day before. If I had gone with my family, at least I would have died with a full stomach! A full, non-poisoned stomach… My gut starts to churn as I swallow the first strip of meat. Everything in me is screaming not to eat more, but I'm so hungry…

A small red light pops into view just in front of my eyes. For a moment I'm confused until I remember that my Pip-Boy links directly into my nervous system. It sends signals to my optical nerve telling me if there are creatures in range of its sensors, determined using my own perceptive skills added into a formula. Officer Michael's tag comes up blue as the compass sparks to life.

One, two, three. Three red tags appear in sequence. A dirty smell wafts in from the cave entrance.

"Well lookie what we got here! A coupla dead men that went and cooked us lunch!" I hear a rough, dumb voice call toward us. As he speaks, three silhouettes appear just beyond our makeshift camp. The one in front continues, "Knew somethin' was up with those strange lights!"

My eyes focus on the three intruders. They're dirty, bloody humans wearing crude armors made of belts and other assorted junk. The one in front has his hair styled in a spiked Mohawk, a spiked collar hugging his neck. He seems to be the leader.

The woman to his right steps forward, a larger gun in her hands. A shotgun maybe? Combat? Looks about right. She's equally dirty and bloody, with metal plates molded very generously to her curves. The look on her face sends a shiver down my spine.

Officer Michael springs to action, his pistol probably ready to blow the leader's head off. He speaks calmly, "We don't want any trouble. Take the dog if you want." He nods to our cooked prey and takes one hand off of the pistol.

The last of the three chuckles darkly, "He don't want no trouble, Spike! Guess we oughta leave now." The leader's hands raise from his side, a gun similar to the girl's combat shotgun aimed for Michael.

Spike, I assume the leader, titters, "How's about you drop your gun and shut the fuck up?" The girl advances closer. "Careful Sunny, might be traps."

Sunny? Her? Even with my pounding heart I can't help but admire the irony in the name. There's nothing 'sunny' about Sunny.

Michael hesitates. "We don't have traps. We don't want trouble. Take the dog, and leave us be." He still holds his gun in one hand.

I watch as a long black sliver launches from Spike's weapon, ripping Michael's head off and pinning it hard against the back wall. My eyes stretch further open in horror and my jaw drops, all of my muscles tensing up. I try as hard as I can to hold back a shriek, a few short whines escaping me pitifully. The three murderers burst into laughter as I pull my limbs closer to me.

Officer Michael's body falls limply to the ground. I hear the thud and feel the blood start to pool around my feet. Warm, thick. My stomach churns harder; I taste the acid in my throat.

Spike growls, "Told ya to put the gun down and shut up, dumbass!" He turns his gun on me and adds, "You got somethin' to say?"

I manage a whimper.

"Aw, look at the poor kid. I bet he's missing his mommy right about now!" There's something sinister in Sunny's tone. It almost sounds like she's trying to be…seductive? "Heh, maybe I can take care of that!"

"For Christ's sake Sunny, cut the shit!" Spike groans, lowering his gun. "You and your damn tits, man!"

She stomps a reply, "You got a thing for spikes, I got a thing for my tits. Deal with it!" She raises her shotgun toward him, to which he lowers his.

Taking a deep breath, he sighs, "All right, fine. Whatever! Just kill the kid and take the dog when you're done!" He turns back toward the entrance and walks hesitantly. "C'mon Bruiser, let's leave the bitch to her shit."

"Gotcha," the third murderer nods as he follows Spike.

I'm left alone with Sunny. Her words set my heart pounding, anticipation of something cruel pumping adrenaline into my body. She walks over to me slowly, her gun aimed near my face. Not like she needs accuracy with that thing… She shakes her head as she gets closer.

Leaning down right near my face she whispers, "It's your lucky day kid." She grips my jaw tight, prying my mouth open further. My head starts pounding in fear, her stench making my stomach even worse and her words from before echoing in my ears.

But she's right, because three blue tags appear on my compass. I hear a short burst of lasers and two loud groans. Sunny releases me and raises her gun, running toward the entrance. I have just enough time to close my mouth before she comes flying back to me, blood splattering past me. A few drops hit my cheek.

I try to stand up, to get out of the quickly spreading pool of blood, a mixture of Michael and Sunny. I grab the dropped 10mm and my pistol, climbing up on top of my rock. A demanding voice startles me, "Hands in the air, Local!" The three blue tags begin moving side to side on my compass, a sign that they're close. Large white figures appear in the cave, energy weapons in their hands.

My first thought is that they're the monsters that attacked the Vault: metal armor, demonic eyes. But the armor is white and the eyes are black, not how Chief Puckett described them. I raise my hands as commanded and open my mouth to speak.

"Th-thank you!" Not what I wanted to say, but it's appropriate.

They lower their weapons, scanning me with their metal heads. I see the one in front pull a bag off of his back. A fourth figure appears, wearing red robes instead of the matching metal. She whispers something to the head metal man and he shakes his head as he pulls a bottle from his bag.

"Is he a friend of yours?" the metal man to the right aims his gun at Officer Michael.

I nod. There's a few seconds of silence before I add, "Those people murdered him. They wanted our dog meat." I wave toward the dog on the ground, now resting in a pool of blood. I shiver in fear and inadvertently knock my bottle of water to the ground. A pathetic whimper must escape me because the metal men chuckle.

"I take it you're out of rations, Local?" The leader of the metal men steps toward me, treading the blood as if it wasn't there. He holds out his hand, the bottle from his bag right by my face. I hesitate to take it, my nerves still shot. "It's not a trick, kid. No sense in surviving raiders just to die to thirst."

Raiders? So that's what they're called. I don't entirely believe he's being nice out of the kindness of his heart, but I'm too shaken to care. I take the bottle and practically drown myself in its contents—water, clean and tasty.

The head of the metal men laughs, "Slow down kid! You'll make yourself sick." He puts the bag back over his shoulder and stands tall. "I'm Head Knight Luke Baldwin, of the Mid-South Brotherhood of Steel." He turns to his right, "This is Knight Olivia Ewing and the other one is Junior Knight Brian Hayes."

The red robed woman steps forward and sighs, "I am Senior Scribe Clara Fields; it's a _pleasure_ to meet you." Rolling her eyes, she turns away. "You remember the last time you 'rescued' a Local, don't you Baldwin?"

I try to soak in the information. Seven new names, three of them now dead, sit on the top of my brain. At least they manage to bury my family and friends from the Vault, if only for a moment. I wait patiently for an opportunity to introduce myself as the Head Knight and Senior Scribe argue.

"It's not like we weren't going to kill the raiders anyway, right?" Knight Baldwin chuckles dismissively.

The scribe shakes her head, "And these three didn't have the holotag, so let's go get it!"

"You never searched the girl," he states matter-of-factly.

"You're insufferable!" Scribe Fields stomps to the body and rummages through the armor, groping and squeezing the looser of the material. She comes up from the corpse with a groan, "Told you so."

Head Knight Baldwin turns to me and sighs, "Sorry kid, but this is where we part ways. We've got business with those raiders." He turns to leave without a second glance, dismissing me as quickly as he helped me.

I wave an arm frantically, stepping down from my rock and all but shouting, "My name is Johnathan Neal! Thanks for saving me…" I finish the bottle of water before reaching down to the gun on the ground. A combat shotgun, if I'm stuck alone in wastes, could save my life.

Junior Knight Hayes raises his weapon and snaps, "He's got a Pip-Boy, Sir!"

The three other Brotherhood of Steel members stop instantly, turning back toward me. Head Knight Baldwin whistles, "Good eye, soldier!" Using a hand to lower the aimed weapon, he approaches me. "Can't believe I missed that."

"What's so special about my Pip-Boy?" I ask with genuine concern. In the Vault, everyone had a Pip-Boy. From the day you turn twelve, you get to use yours. Listen to radio broadcasts, take school notes, keep up with your belongings, et cetera. "You're high tech. Why do you sound so surprised?" I take the shotgun and any stray shells I can find on Sunny's corpse. It's morbid, and I should be sickened, but I just don't care.

Senior Scribe Fields scoffs, "What Vault are you from, Local? Sixty four? Fifty one?"

She knows. She knows I'm from a Vault, and the Overseer told me not to let anyone know! How can she tell? Am I too frightened? Is it the Pip-Boy? No, surely they aren't that rare! I struggle to find some lie to cover for me.

Knight Ewing speaks up, "Wasn't Vault 64 scavenged by those Enclave wannabes? And Vault 51 was abandoned before we even discovered it." She stays silent for a moment and looks around before adding, "Could there be another Vault in the area, sir?"

Head Knight Baldwin mumbles, "The terminal at the Vault-Tec building didn't mention any other Vaults in the area." He looks at me, and though he wears a helmet of metal, I can feel his seriousness. "Tell you what Local, if you come with us back to HQ, I won't be forced to rip that wrist computer from your body."

"Wh-what?!" I snap, the mood of the situation returning to its dark origin. I feel the tension rise as the Brotherhood members, including the scribe, aim their weapons for me. The four blue tags turn red in an instant. My hand drops to my side, the shotgun pointing uselessly toward the ground.

"Look on the bright side," he explains, "we have food and clean water."

I feel my empty hand curl into a fist. But I'm not an idiot; I know I don't stand a chance. It's obvious that the Brotherhood is only looking after itself, even if that means cold blooded murder. I can't compete with that. "Let me take Officer Michael and the raiders' things, and I'll go." I pick up the Overseer's bag, now stained with blood on the bottom, and put my shotgun into it.

They lower their weapons, the tags remaining red. I gather up everything I can. Inside the cave I take a knife from Sunny's corpse, Officer Michael's baton and vest, and I place any untainted strips of dog meat into his empty bottle. As we leave, Junior Knight Hayes watches while I loot Spike's gun—a makeshift weapon crafted from spare parts and loaded with industrial-scale nails. He just so happens to be carrying a few dozen of them, and whatever won't fit in the gun goes into the bag.

Bruiser's corpse is useless, save for a few dozen bottle caps jingling in a tiny satchel. I look it over in confusion and toss it away, receiving an annoyed groan from Hayes.

"Don't you know anything, Local? Those things are important!" He snatches the satchel from the ground and tosses it back at me. "Trust me," he chuckles, urging me to keep the caps.

Once my bag is full of everything I think might be necessary, we begin our trek down the steep hillside that hid the cave Michael and I had found the previous morning. I say a silent prayer for the fallen officer and put it behind me, more concerned with living than mourning. It's like he said: mourning is useless if it means dying.

We start a march toward the east, according to my Pip-Boy's compass. Taking a second to check the map function of my Pip-Boy, I notice it filling out a map of the area as we pass. There's a marker about a mile away labelled…

Redfield?

_Footnote: Level Up!  
>Perk Added: Intense Training<br>Effect: Your Perception is increased slightly._

_Quest Perk Added: Explorer  
>Effect: Most locations are marked on your map (thanks to some good satellite feeds, of course)!<em>


	4. Chapter 2

**Concentration**

I stare up at the orange-speckled dome in front of us, the crumbling remains of some pre-war building. The 'Open' sign in the window still flickers with life. The scent of mold and rot wafts from the open window occasionally, sending my stomach churning again. The dog meat still doesn't sit well with me, and the thought of Michael's rotting head pinned to the cave wall only makes it worse.

Head Knight Baldwin chuckles, "Here we are: The Mammoth Orange. Our home away from home!" He kicks open the front door and unleashes a few blasts from his energy rifle, much to my surprise. "If there was anyone waiting to ambush us, they're thinking twice now," he explains.

Knight Ewing and Junior Knight Hayes rush in, their guns ready to fire. "All clear!" Ewing calls; Baldwin relaxes.

Senior Scribe Fields shakes her head and groans, "Is it ever _not_ clear? Who would _want_ to stay in this disgusting place?" She nods at me with a serious look and steps inside. As Ewing and Hayes exit, I find myself compelled to join her. "Hurry up, Local!" she shouts, urging me forward faster.

Baldwin explains, "We're going to scout the roads ahead, make sure the raiders aren't waiting for us. You two should be safe in here, mostly. It's small, two exits and one window. Easily defendable." He adds with a chuckle, "Keep her safe, Local!"

It's obvious to me that Fields wants to protest, but the door shuts before she has a chance. Now we're stuck here, in this smelly, run-down diner. Pictures hang on the walls, corroded by time and radiation, the paint peeling and the glass missing. What used to be orange tables now sit, a white color specked with brown, the chair cushions crumbling under our weight.

I choose to leave her to her thoughts, and turn to my Pip-Boy. The local map shows the surrounding landscape, with a marker for The Mammoth Orange on top of the symbol showing where I am. The long-range map still shows the marker for Redfield a few yards to the north of me. Right next to it, I notice, is a marker for 'Redfield Junior High School.'

The 'Radio' tab of my Pip-Boy begins to flash at the bottom of the screen. I navigate to it with the nob on the side, my curiosity piqued. I shiver as the slight chill in the air mixes with my excitement—could I listen to music in this barren wasteland? On the list of available broadcasts sit three names, two of which faded black.

Only 'The Buzz' remains highlighted. Without hesitation, I activate it. A loud voice bursts through the silent building, _"Welcome back Ladies and Gents, can I get an 'amen!'"_

"Cut that thing off!" Fields snaps, panic in her eyes. I click the station again and it falls silent. My heart pounds as I realize that if there were raiders looking for something to kill, I just gave them the go ahead! Fields darts to the window and sighs, "I think we're safe for now, Local."

But I don't buy it. I refuse to get my hopes up. After the Vault, after Michael, I don't want to be optimistic. I feel it in my gut. Something's coming, I just know it. But I keep it to myself, let her think what she wants. Because, even if I tell her what I think, she won't listen to me anyway.

She places a small pouch on the table in front of me. "Use those if you really must listen to that junk." I open the pouch and pull two small orbs attached to a long cord that ends in the same type of plug as Michael's keyboard. Earphones. I used to have a pair just like them in my room.

"Thank you." I nod and hook them up. Cranking the volume down slightly, I select the station again. I'm greeted with a much softer voice this time, feminine.

A soft classical tune accompanies the voice. _"…walks with the wise grows wise, but a companion of fools suffers harm. Proverbs 13:20."_ Proverbs? The Bible? Why is she quoting the Bible? _"Be careful of the company you keep, children. Be aware of their intentions, or you may find yourself bleeding in a ditch."_ What the hell is she rambling about? Anyone can tell you not to trust idiots! _"The Enclave Imposters would just as soon see you dead as they would give you a gun. The Brotherhood wants nothing more than to steal your technology and leave you for dead."_ Oh.

So it's a propaganda station. I feel the disappointment bubbling in my chest as I realize I won't get anything good from the station. And yet, the woman's voice captivates me. _"If you are approached by creatures in metal armor, flee for your life. Black armor means death. White armor means poverty. Protect yourselves from those that would claim friendship."_ I consider her words carefully. Baldwin did pretend to be friendly until he noticed my Pip-Boy. Now I'm a prisoner in their care, being dragged into raider territory. Maybe the voice is right… _"You can find safety here in the walls of Rockville. Come to us, children, and we'll protect you."_ Her voice cuts away as the music fades.

The loud masculine voice from earlier breaks into the silence, _"That was Purity with your daily invitation! We welcome all you wasteland folks to our sanctuary! Up next we have…"_ I turn the station off. Purity was her name? Not the weirdest one I've heard since leaving the Vault. Rockville, huh?

Scribe Fields leaps from her seat out of nowhere. Her face fills the window and I notice her eyes darting from side to side. I remove the earphones just in time to hear a faint voice coming from outside—demented and corrupt, like Spike's…

Oh no.

An explosion.

I hear an explosion and fall to the ground. Six red tags appear in my vision. With some kind of instinct I didn't know I had, I drop the table I was sitting at in front of me like a barrier. I hear the window shatter as a loud gunshot roars out: shotgun, most likely. I pull the Overseer's bag down to the floor with me, rummaging in it for one of my weapons. Something a bit more powerful than a laser pistol, anyway.

Fields screams as I hear a smaller gunshot. The smell of gunpowder fills the air. I hear a laser weapon fire, one of the raiders outside letting out a God-awful groan. Five tags left. Another one laughs as another explosion rings out, this one inside the diner! Fields grunts as shrapnel zooms past my face. I can only imagine she's been hit, as the front counter of the small shop blocks my view to the window.

I finally manage to get Spike's makeshift rifle from the bag, check to see if it's full of spikes, and hold it in my hands to get acquainted with it. It should be just like a firing a real gun, I imagine. After all, he managed to decapitate Michael in one shot… I shiver as I imagine me doing that very same thing to one of them, a happy shiver. Happy?

I lean over my table shield and aim the rifle at about head level of an average male. I release two spikes consecutively, the first piercing the door and the second flying through it freely. I hear a single sharp "Shit!" as the sound of flesh ripping barely carries over a small pistol's gunshot. Four tags left.

Fields calls out, "Good shot, Local! Keep that up!"

I crack a smile. I consider how messed up it is to be happy to kill them, but I can't help it. My heart pounds as adrenaline fills my body. I take aim once more, this time to the left. I consider the trajectory of the spikes, lowering my aim to compensate for the angle. Another two spikes go flying. The first catches on the door frame, the second prying it free. The hole they leave is wide enough to see the face of a female raider outside. She has a small grenade at her mouth.

She rips the pin out with her teeth. It hits the door behind Fields and rebounds back beside her. "Look out!" Even if she wants to, there's no way she can react in time. It explodes. I fire my rifle through the hole and watch the raider's head go flying from the body. Three tags left; good.

I feel something inside me snap. Something I didn't know existed sends signals to my body, and I jump to my feet. The table goes flying as I charge the door. Three raiders stare at me with dropped jaws; one of them goes down to my rifle before the others react. Two tags. I feel a bullet sear past my left arm as one raider ducks behind an abandoned pre-war car. The third attempts to join him after wasting a clear shot, only to have his chest pierced by a spike.

He flies into the hood of the car and sticks, the spike far enough through to hold him in place. He screams in agony and thrashes his arms for a moment before falling limp. One tag. His companion comes up over the car with his aim locked. As I drop to the ground to avoid his fire, he bursts into ash with a sick electric sound.

Knight Ewing snaps, "What the hell happened, Local?!" She lifts me off of the ground and all but launches me into the diner. Three more red tags appear as I crash to the ground.

I hear several more gunshots, followed by a barrage of lasers. When the sounds die down, Head Knight Baldwin rushes into the building with his rifle hanging limply at his side. "Where's Fields?" he snaps, his face inches from mine. The panic in his voice betrays the expressionless helmet he wears.

My head is swimming. What have I just done? I killed at least three raiders, single-handedly. With the very weapon that killed my only other Vault resident…

"The counter," I choke, pointing weakly at the shattered window. Before I can even lower my hand, Baldwin is gone from view, on the ground. I don't know why, but I feel compelled to say something. "Sorry."

I sit upright and breathe deeply, trying to steady my heart. The feeling that sent me outside is still there, telling me to aim my gun and fire. My hands tremble as I reach for the rifle, my mind telling me to stop, that the battle is over. My heart won't quit its pounding; my body wants to keep going.

I feel something slam against my side and I snap to attention. The trembling fades, my heart slows. My eyes ache with focus. Junior Knight Hayes stands tall above me, an arm extended. I take it and stand all the way up, scrambling to gather the Overseer's bag and its contents. I pick the rifle up last.

"You did well, for a Local," Fields's voice catches my attention. She stands, awkwardly leaning against Baldwin as they approach the booths of the dining area. I see, even in her red robes, her left side is soaked in blood. "I'd be dead if you hadn't given the heads up."

Ewing groans, "I thought something was wrong when we didn't run into any scouts under the bridge. Then the explosions started." She drops a small holotape onto the counter and sets her gun beside it. "I've been wanting to listen to this thing for a while."

"There're more important things going on, aren't there?" Hayes questions, his hands trembling. He's definitely newer to combat than the other three. Then again, so am I.

"Why are you so interested in it?" I ask, needing something to distract me. Besides, I can play holotapes on my Pip-Boy if she's really impatient.

Fields chuckles, her breath heavy, "That tape's been hanging under the bridge for a long time. I doubt the raiders put it there." She adjusts in her seat as Baldwin wraps a bandage around her leg. Her robe looks weird being pulled so far up. "It's good to have holotapes for posterity."

I get why Fields would care. She's a scribe, after all. Scribes record information, at least in a historical context. But why did Ewing go so far out of the way to recover it?

"Can you do me a favor, Local?" she asks, almost too predictably. "Let's listen to this tape on your computer."

I nod my head and she hands me the tape. A small cord stretches from the side of the tape and I plug it into the very same accessory port as the earphones and keyboard. Within seconds, my Pip-Boy downloads the entire tape and opens up to the Notes tab, the newest addition flashing just above my 'Last Moments' note. A meter to left shows that the tape is almost two minutes long and that it's titled 'The Red Fields of Redfield.' The name alone forms a lump in my throat. Foreboding.

I unhook the tape and hit play.

…

"My name is Matthew Bearden, and I'm twenty-two and a half years old. As of this morning, my family is dead. We heard about the attacks, the bombs falling all over the country. Everyone heard about them. I think one hit North Little Rock a few hours ago. We felt some wind from the explosion, I think. Paint's already started peeling from the houses. The Mammoth Orange ain't so orange no more.

People started looting as soon as the sirens went off. I mean, instantly. I was stabbed for a box of Mentats… Most of us didn't get picked for the Vaults. Most of us who did didn't go, this was just another drill we thought. I'm such a dumbass! My family'd be alive! I'd be safe! I wouldn't be waiting to die under this bridge. If you're hearing this—

Damn train. Didn't figure it'd run today of all days.

I wonder if Taylor's alive. He knows the combination to our safe in the storage shed at the old Junior High. Sure could use a stimpak…

Anyway, if you're listening to this bullshit, just know that Redfield survived the bombs. But we sure as hell didn't survive ourselves. I'm gonna die now, soon, and I just wanted to talk to someone, anyone about what I'm feeling. Thanks for listening, future man…"

…

So he died not because of the Great War…but because of the stupidity of the ones who could have survived? That…That…

"Figures," Ewing scoffs. "Human stupidity at its finest. Some example those bastards set, huh?"

Baldwin groans, "Can't blame them. If you thought you were going to die, wouldn't you just go ahead and do whatever you wanted?" He wraps Fields's leg one last time, the blood soaking through at some points, and stands up.

Hayes speaks solemnly, "Their desire to live their lives' worth in a single day ruined this town. You can't tell me that isn't sad." I kind of agree. It would've been better to have died from the bombs.

"Of course, the south was never quoted as being intelligent, even in the history books!" Fields explains. She manages to keep her voice steady despite the obvious pain in her leg; she's strong, though she may not look it. "They _did_ start a war with the north over the concept of owning other humans."

"Slavers…" Ewing looks toward the ground as she speaks, "Almost as bad as the Enclave."

The diner falls silent on that note, a light breeze whistling through the broken window. The chilling air is refreshing after the rage of fighting the raiders. Whatever had possessed me before is gone now; I feel normal again. The thoughts from those few moments still ring in my head, the intense desire to kill the raiders, though they're just echoes fading away. After a few minutes of silence, Head Knight Baldwin gathers his weapon from behind the counter and the diner fills with energy.

"Alright, Knights of the First Regiment, these raiders can't be forgiven! They murdered one of our brothers and stole his holotag, and they tried to kill our Senior Scribe! I say we take the battle to them: to the Junior High building!" His voice is filled with confidence and charm as he rallies his fellow knights. I take special note of the 'First Regiment' part and save it for later. "Twelve of them are already dead that we know of. That school ain't that big, either!"

Knight Ewing cheers, "For our fallen Brother!"

Junior Knight Hayes whistles, "Let's put 'em in their place!"

Senior Scribe Fields groans, "Yeah, and let's let them hear us coming first…"

Ignoring the negative attitude, Baldwin laughs, "You're not going anywhere, Fields. You and the Local are staying here." He holsters his plasma rifle and pulls his bag of supplies from his back. After scrambling around inside for a moment, his hand emerges clasping several long syringes with gauges on one end.

Stimpaks. Pre-war medical applicators filled with potent healing drugs. Non-addictive, non-lethal tools used to provide almost instant healing of minor wounds. I can't help but admire that they still exist outside of the Vaults with as many years of looting and decaying that have passed.

He hands most of them to Scribe Fields, taking one and injecting her leg with it. Right before our eyes, the blood spots stop spreading, the wounds seemingly closing on their own. I'm amazed; I've never seen such a serious wound treated solely by a stimpak... He hands me the last three.

"If you get yourself bombarded with grenades again, they might save your life. You know how to use them, right Local?"

"Of course," I snap indignantly. They keep speaking to me like I'm an idiot and, as far as the wasteland goes, I may be. But everyone knows how to use a stimpak, right? "You stick the needle in and the pressure pushes some medicine out. The gauge shows how much is left."

"Good. You Locals aren't all idiots, then."

How many 'Locals' have they met? Enough to accurately sample the majority?

Now that her leg is mostly healed, Fields speaks up, "Don't think you're leaving me here for a minute longer!" She stands carefully and draws another gun from her robe, different from the basic laser pistol she used earlier. This one is less blocky and looks like a suction cup at the end of the barrel. "I only got to kill one of those bastards; Local got the rest!"

Baldwin doesn't even put up a fight! He simply shrugs his shoulders—a respectable feat in that metal armor—and sighs, "Fine by me. If you can walk, you can duck." His helmet snaps toward me with a chuckle, "Looks like you're killing some raiders, kid."

Those words set my heart pounding again. Something about killing those bastards excites me. I hold my rifle steady in my hands as I say, "I can't wait." It isn't joyous or even happy, but I don't object. I feel a smile creep up on my face.

I strap the Overseer's bag over my shoulder. I retrieve Fields's laser pistol from behind the counter and unload its energy cells, adding them to my own. I gather the earphones and place them safely in their pouch as the three Knights exit ahead of us. Doing one last sweep of the place, I find another holotape sticking out from behind a faded photo. I store it in the bag for later listening and head on my way, Fields taking up the rear. We don't even stop to loot the raiders.

Our goal lies just a few minutes away: Redfield Junior High School, according to my Pip-Boy's map. Just over the bridge where Ewing found Matthew Bearden's holotape…

A testament to old world stupidity, that holotape.

_Footnote: Level Up!  
>Perk Added: Finesse<br>Effect: Your bullets seem to hit all the right places! You have a pretty good chance of dealing a fatal blow!_


	5. Chapter 3

**Back to School**

I scream in frustration as the burning in my leg intensifies. Each step sends signals to my brain that try to force me to the ground, but I struggle forward. Just a few more feet and I'll be inside the small portable building, safe from the bullets flying around me. The weight of the metal man on my back slows me down and increases the pain, but I can't just abandon him! There's a chance, no matter how small, that I can save him! If I can just find time to dig out my stimpaks…

I don't know what went wrong. We were so prepared, so ready for this fight. Three Brotherhood Knights, a Scribe, and a Local against a handful of raiders… How did the tables turn? It had to have been that ugly fella, the biggest raider. His gun was weird looking, almost like a cannon. The books in Vault 95 never mentioned that gun. It hit Hayes, and he was out like a light.

My back's soaked in blood, I can feel the warmth. He coughs every so often, so he's still alive. If I can get that helmet off, maybe I can keep him that way.

There was a massive explosion inside the building, in the central hall. Baldwin and the others were on the far side when the ceiling collapsed; I'm on my own. Again. Just like in that cave, for however short it was. Bullets whiz past my head as I approach the door. One strikes the knob and it falls to pieces, the door swinging open. I count my blessings and hurry forward with one last burst of adrenaline.

Inside the small building, I throw Hayes from my shoulders and drag a small desk with a computer on top in front of the door, barring it shut. The computer is still functional, surprisingly, and an image is displayed on the screen. A group of kids, about twelve years old, sitting at a series of computers. A single adult stands behind them, smiling. This was a computer classroom, I'm guessing.

A bullet pierces the door and hits my arm, sending a fresh wave of prioritizing pain through my body. I let out a single curse before dropping the Overseer's bag to the ground. I sort through it with careless desperation, the stimpaks all scattered about. I find two and, dismissing the third, toss the bag away. One goes into my leg, a gaping wound ripped from my thigh. The fact that I was walking at all is nothing short of a miracle.

I'm on top of Hayes before I can even feel its effects. I pry at his helmet as he coughs louder and rougher. The seconds are ticking away, and I can't find purchase anywhere! It's like the armor is literally designed to never come off! My frustration boils as I begin to tear at his gloves; I hear his fingers cracking as I try to force them off. I just need a tiny speck of flesh, dammit!

A series of wet coughs breaks my rage as I realize that my actions aren't helping him at all. If only I could get a stimpak into the bullet hole, but whatever came from that cannon gun sealed the hole behind it. Tears form as I realize that I can't save him. I can't save Junior Knight Hayes, even though I want to. I don't even care about him; I'm just tired of people dying on me! The Overseer, the entire fucking Vault, Officer Michael! Even those sick assholes they call raiders! I just want people to stop dying in my presence!

My tears begin to fall, warm against my chilled cheeks. The air outside is steadily getting colder. Hayes coughs weakly, "Go."

I stare down at him with confusion. Go? "What?" I ask, my heart pounding. There's that feeling in my body again, the desire to kill. I feel it growing. It's hotter than before. Why?

"Kill those sorry," he coughs, "bastards for me, will you?" He reaches for his laser rifle and passes it to me, all but forcing it into my hands. "Make sure they get our Brother's tag, okay?"

I don't owe him anything. That's my first thought. Then I grip the rifle tight, one hand on the barrel. With gritted teeth I scream, "Those bastards are gonna die!" I hit him in the chest with the butt of the rifle and he coughs one last time. His breath fades away and the burning in my body flourishes into a full blown pyre.

Before I know it, the desk and its computer are away from the door, I'm outside, and the bullets are flying at me again. One strikes my off arm, and I send a few lasers back at its source. My lips curl into a smile as I watch the raider disintegrate into pink ash. Even the pain in my arm can't stop me, my leg's wound healing up quickly from the stimpak. Another raider peaks out from an adjacent building to flank me, but is quickly on the ground as I barely spare a glance before firing.

And then the rage clears. I'm still itching to kill, but reason takes over. I can't kill anyone if I myself am dead! I take cover behind a large slab of brick, fallen from the main building over the years. It's crumbling, but manages to take a pounding from the raiders. They fire mercilessly, wanting me dead, I suppose. I can only imagine how Baldwin and the others are doing.

The firing stops for just a moment, and I take aim. A raider taking cover behind a staircase to what I assume is the school's gymnasium goes down as he reloads his pistol. Head blows right off when a laser hits it. Another raider hiding behind a withered tree trunk pulls from cover with her weapon aimed, and as she unleashes a few bullets, she gets sent flying by a laser.

One of her bullets strikes my cheek, and the pain burns, but there's no severe damage. I growl, "You killed Hayes! You killed Michael! All of you bastards will pay!" I shoot one final raider hiding behind the broken side entrance to the main building, his death groan extremely pleasing to me.

Two days. I've been out of the Vault for two whole days. And I'm a murderer. I'm killing these people as if they aren't even human, and I'm happy to do it! I'm happy to be shooting them, to be killing them. To hear them die is music to my ears! But…why? I wasn't always like this, was I?

A loud explosion snaps me from my thoughts, the pain in my arm reasserting itself. I feel that cold fire inside me die down, the real me coming back. My arms start quivering and my heart slows slightly. A few breaths and I'm staring at a raider all the way across the lot, tossing grenades like water balloons at a party. Explosion after explosion rings out, the debris and shrapnel get closer and closer to me. One last explosion sends the brick wall crumbling to dust, the force sending me hard to my back. I grunt in pain and anger and stand up to run, but find myself being kicked to the side by some large force.

The dust settles and I see a large, hulking man standing over me. If he were wearing metal armor I would call him an ally. He kicks me again, and I hear my ribs crack—how many I can't say, but it's quite a few. The pain rips through me, the murderous rage inside me dying instantly. I can barely hold the rifle in my hand, let alone aim it.

An alert pops up in my field of vision, a small window of words that I can barely take time to read. _The user's health has reached critical conditions. This unit is designed as both a household utility machine and a combat-efficiency enhancer. The number of hostiles in range of this unit has reached critical limit. V.A.T.S. will now be activated._ As soon as the last word registers in my head, the world seems to stop around me.

I feel this intense sensation flood my body, cold and relaxing. My muscles stop shaking, my ribs stop aching, and my heart rate sky rockets! I move in an almost surreal manner, everything around me moving so slow. As I stare up at the brute, my arm lifts almost automatically toward his face. I pull my trigger. Still in slow motion, I watch the thick red laser cut through the air.

It hits him right in the nose and swallows him whole. As he turns to ash, the world speeds back up. The cold feeling fades away and my heart returns to normal. The pain burns through me once again, and I can't help but pop my second stimpak.

I can't begin to comprehend what I just experienced. I knew that the Pip-Boy was biometrically locked to my body, and that it could tap into my optical nerves, but controlling my entire nervous system? Scary…

Another exploding grenade draws me back again, my mind scattering too quickly for my own good. The stimpak quickly takes effect, the pain in my side melting away as I scramble to run from the advancing raider. Counting the one throwing grenades, there are five red tags still on screen. I can't help but curse the fact that they managed to pack so many raiders into such a small space.

A massive explosion knocks me to the ground as dust and dirt blind me. I hear a faint groan behind me and a series of smaller explosions; shrapnel pummels my back, much more than one grenade's worth. I can't help the pain this time. My only other stimpak is in the Overseer's bag and I can't afford to make a run for it! I turn to face the explosion and as the dust clears I see another large figure appear. The red tag on my compass tells me that it isn't, as I had hoped, Baldwin.

The raider with the gun cannon stands just a few feet from me. His eyes shine with demented joy, his face twisted into a smile. His teeth are bloody, though whether or not it's his blood I can't determine. The gun is massive, at least fifteen pounds of solid metal, and the hole at the end of the barrel is scorched. The raider laughs as he steps closer to me, slowly and cautiously. I almost wish I hadn't used my stimpak—maybe V.A.T.S. would activate again.

"I sure as hell wasn't about to let ol' dumbass do ya in!" he laughs, his voice higher than I expected and much gruffer than the other raiders. He sounds as if he's been doing this thing for decades… "'Cause you ain't no Brotherhood tough, you're just another wasteland pussy what done got mixed in with the wrong shit!" He takes several quick steps and the barrel is pressed against my forehead before I can react. I feel the sting of hot metal on my flesh.

He stares into my eyes for a second and growls, "You killed six of my best toys today that I know of. And the Cranford's group never came back. So why do ya look so fuckin' scared?" He pushes the gun forward, sending me to my back. As the shrapnel digs deeper, I let out a pathetic whimper. "You should be happy! It took the great Redfield to put you down!"

Redfield? He named himself after the town he's been terrorizing? He's that arrogant to think he deserves such a meaningful namesake? This town used to be full of life, children and parents and officers and friends and families! What gives this murderous asshole the right to use that name?

My face must reflect my thoughts, because he laughs, "That's the fire I was looking for. The fire that broke my toys. _Now_ I can kill ya!" He places a finger tight against the trigger and pulls it back slightly.

I stare up at him, fear drowned out by my pure anger. If I had known his name before, I might have tried to fight while he was a few steps away. I take a deep breath and wait for him to shoot, but he stands there in arrogant patience.

"Ain't ya got any last words? A prayer to your god? Hell, I might be willing to let ya live if ya beg me." He lowers the gun as he makes the offer. I see it in his eyes that he's being genuine, even if it is in a demented and sick purpose. "You'd be a great raider, kid. You got the blood rage in ya."

He turns his head for a split second to swat at some nonexistent bug and I spring to action. My rifle in my hands, I'm on top of him, his lack of attention letting me send him easily to the ground. He swings with his gun and misses as I aim. I blast his dominant arm with a point-blank shot to the elbow and his gun goes flying as he flails in pain. Then his knees. Then his other arm, in case he wants to throw a punch.

Blood runs from what small wounds aren't cauterized by the lasers. He grunts in pain as I stare him in the eyes. There's that feeling again, bubbling inside me. I smile as guttural groans pour from him. In the matter of a minute, he's lost the battle. He may have been big and bad, but he let his guard down and underestimated me.

Underestimated me? A pale, fragile teenager from a Vault…underestimated?

And then he says the one thing I was hoping to hear, "D-Don't kill me, kid! We could be great together! We could own this town! Just don't _fucking_ kill me!" It isn't as humiliating as I had hoped it would be, but it's there alright.

He's begging for his life. He's begging not to die to some scrawny brat. He wants to live.

"How many of your toys ignored that very same cry for mercy? How many times _have you_?" I let the thought sink in for a moment before delivering one last shot to his head. It doesn't explode or disintegrate like I want it to, but to see the blood splatter is enough to appease the fire in my gut. My heart slows down and for the first time since leaving the computer building I realize that there are three blue tags on my compass. "They're alive…"

I manage to choke out those simple words before collapsing onto my stomach. Exhaustion and fear and pain all run together to create a euphoria of bad feelings that sets my temples pounding. I feel a cold chill run through my veins, some sick aftermath of the thing Redfield called a 'blood rage.' Was he right? If this strange feeling goes unchecked, could I end up like him?

"Where the hell did that come from, Local?!" Head Knight Baldwin stomps up beside me and lifts me from the ground, careful of the shrapnel in my back. As I struggle to stand upright, I see he's removed his helmet. He has narrow blue eyes. His curly, coffee-colored hair is short and worn in a businesslike, utilitarian style. His face is plump and white. "You tore that bastard a new one, for sure!"

"Kinda barbaric," Knight Ewing chuckles as she prods the corpse with her boot. She's taken her helmet off as well. Her eyes are the color of chocolate to match her skin; her curly brown hair is neck-length and worn in a complex, artistic style. How she manages to keep it so neat under the helmet is a mystery. "You did good Local."

Senior Scribe Fields takes her turn, "It was dicey for a while, but you pulled through. Good work." She stares into my eyes for the longest time as if she's examining me, and I take note of her appearance for the first time. Her wide gray eyes are tense and empty. She has long gray hair worn in a simple bun atop her head. Her eyes seem to dig into my own; I feel her concern before she even announces it.

Which, to my surprise, she doesn't announce.

Instead she asks, "So where's the rookie?"

I can't even begin to explain it. I simply lower my head and they seem to understand.

"He was a brave knight," Baldwin starts with a sigh, "and he died trying to honor his fallen Brother!" I remove my weight from him and manage to stand properly. As I take a few steps toward the computer building, the shrapnel in my back begins to burn again. "You should let Ewing fix you up Local. She's a good medic."

So I stop my walk and sit on the spot. I point toward the middle of the three buildings, "Hayes is in there with my bag of supplies. I tried to save him with a stimpak, but I couldn't get any flesh free from the suit…" I feel a bare hand on my back, the wounds searing with fresh pain.

Ewing sighs, "You did right by him, Local. He died a Brother." She begins picking the pieces of metal from my back and covering each individual wound with some kind of gel. "We'll gather all of the dead raiders in the lot after we recover Hayes's holotags."

"We will?" Fields scoffs. I can almost feel her cock her eyebrow.

"Yes, we will," Ewing snaps, "The Local deserves to at least loot his kills. Might find some useful junk."

Baldwin cheers, "Sounds fair to me! You might be our prisoner, but you could definitely give us a run for our money!" He kneels down in front of me and smiles a warm smile. Over the course of the day he's gone from savior to captor to ally. "Bottle caps might come in handy for you. Get you some good armor when we pass through White Bluff."

"I'm more interested," I begin before flinching under a particularly painful shard of shrapnel, "in Redfield's gun…" I nod at the large raider with the blasted limbs, my final kill, and the gun laying a few feet from him.

"He called himself Redfield? Pretentious asshole," Fields echoes my thoughts from earlier. After a long silence, she starts toward the computer building. "Oh hey, don't forget about that Bearden guy."

I look up at her with confusion at first, before understanding sets in. He had mentioned a safe somewhere in the Junior High's storage buildings! The excitement of possibly finding some pre-war stash of items numbs the pain of the shrapnel removal, and before long it's over. Ewing helps me to my feet as she stands, returning the medical supplies to Baldwin's bag. They both hand me a stimpak before turning back toward the lot of dead raiders.

I head for the furthest portable building of the three, the one that sits directly outside of the school's auditorium, in the hopes of finding the safe from the holotape. Of course, I don't expect it to be there, and even if it is I don't expect it to hold anything valuable, but the hunt alone is enough to distract me from the day's events.

Inside the admittedly well-maintained building sits a single computer terminal, glowing green with pre-war manufacturing. If one thing could be said about RobCo, it's that they built their products to last. The screen shows a single message: _"If you're reading this, and you ain't Matthew, go the fuck away! Otherwise, enter the password."_ At the bottom of the screen sits a blinking line, offering to record the password as it's typed. Below the computer table is a large black safe with a standard pre-war lock.

If I had a screwdriver and some bobby pins, I could probably pick the lock. I use to do it all the time in the Vault—never anything serious, just simple locks. The toy chest from when I was little, the lock on my mom's closet, my brother's journal, other things like that. I never considered doing anything illegal with the talent, but I had it. But, without at least a screwdriver, the ability is wasted.

So I turn back toward the computer and decide to try my hand at hacking it. I was always a smart kid in the Vault, but hacking was something I never could get into. For starters, it was frowned upon and a highly punishable offense. On top of that, the sea of symbols and letters on the screen always made me dizzy. But there were some kids who were pretty much experts, enough to the point that they could hack the teachers' terminals and alter any student's grades. Several of the bullies were held back not because they were dumb, but because they picked on the wrong kid!

So I pull a small cord out from under the main portion of my Pip-Boy and hook it into the back of the terminal. The screen flickers out for a second before a scrambled mess of characters appears on it, several six-letter words mixed in. The hunt for the right one begins.

'Hunter,' three out of six. 'Wonder,' four out of six. 'Tender,' six out of six! An easy password to find, I suppose, but I'm proud I managed it!

The sea of gibberish flickers out as a new screen fades in. _"Just like our friendship, huh? Hey Matthew, just letting you know I've already been by to pick up some supplies. I figured you'd come here when the looting started, and was a little sad you hadn't. I left you some stims and a few other things. Oh, and I left a copy of your schematics in the safe. I'm heading south to White Hall to meet up with my family. Try and meet me, if you can. Sincerely, Taylor Briggs."_ A phrase at the bottom flashes repeatedly. _"Disengage Lock."_ I hit enter on the computer's keyboard and hear the safe below me unlock. Unhooking my Pip-Boy, I quickly swing the door open.

I'm greeted with a large blue sheet of paper, white lines scattered all around it. Blueprints, like the ones they used to construct buildings. Only this blueprint depicts a familiar gun, with a name scribbled at the very top in tiny cursive handwriting. 'The Bearden Family Railway Rifle' it reads, a crude sketch of some long metal spikes off to the side to represent ammo. The very same ammo I've been using in Spike's gun!

I've been using a Railway Rifle? It's slightly smaller than the one on the blueprint, but they're definitely the same kind of weapon. Maybe Matthew Bearden enhanced the design and made it more powerful? Or maybe it's more durable? Either way, I roll the schematics into a tight fold and tuck them into a pants pocket until I can get the Overseer's bag back.

Under the blueprint sits several stacks of stimpaks, all held together with rubber bands! Jackpot! A big pouch sits in the corner, jingling as I remove it. A small note stapled to it reads, 'Because money won't be no good, have some caps!' in childish handwriting. I can't decide if it was written by Matthew or Taylor, but I find it heartwarming that they were close enough through the years to leave a memory like this inside their old school. I'm also saddened by the fact that, even as children, they realized the world was in such bad shape.

The stimpaks and caps go in the pocket opposite the schematics. I hear one of the Knights stomp up the rotting wooden ramp to the door and toss my bag inside. Without a word they leave me to my thoughts, not even questioning the safe at my feet. Scanning the inside one last time, I find another holotape, this one in perfect condition, and remember the one from the picture in the Mammoth Orange.

I open the Overseer's bag and unload my finds, using a special zipper for the schematics. I dig out the first two holotapes and plug them into my Pip-Boy in turn, the first being 'The Red Fields of Redfield' and the second titled 'Goodbye Redfield.' The newest addition to my collection reads 'Home of the Lions.' I decide to hold off on playing them, knowing that Baldwin and the others won't want to wait around too much longer.

Heaving the bag over my shoulder, I head out to the lot where they've gathered all of the raiders' corpses. It's almost satisfying to see the demented faces frozen in pain and death. Laying the bag safely away from whatever blood keeps pooling from them, I begin my search. I start on the end farthest from Redfield, knowing his gun will add to my burden immensely.

Most of the raiders just have standard weapons: a combat or sawed-off shotgun, a few 10mm pistols, some lead pipes or spiked knuckles. A couple have moderately hefty satchels of bottle caps, of which I'm still just as confused about as the time Hayes told me to collect them. I collect any spare bullets they have, and take what guns I feel I can use. By the time I reach Redfield, my bag is almost too heavy for me to carry. As it stands, I can carry it, but I certainly won't be able to duck and cover on a moment's notice.

But I have to have his gun cannon. That weapon ripped through Hayes's power armor as if it were butter! Imagine the things I could do with that kind of firepower! I could keep others from dying, for sure… Assuming I can get a clear shot on the target.

On his person he carried another bag of bottle caps, the biggest I've seen so far, and several different kinds of bullets. The only kinds I don't recognize are long and thick, more easily identified as missiles than they are bullets. The most abundant variety on his body are yellow-tipped, with fewer being red-tipped and even fewer with black. They all look the same aside from the color variable, and I assume they work for the same weapon—his gun cannon.

"Holy shit!" Baldwin exclaims, picking the gun cannon up from the ground. He's visibly unprepared for its weight, as it almost drops before he grips it with both hands. "This is an anti-materiel rifle! Talk about military treasures!" He does me the courtesy of putting it in my bag, adding, "I dunno if you can even aim that thing, but I'd hold on to it."

I nod in agreement and gather the rest of the ammo from Redfield's pockets. Altogether, from him alone, I've probably gathered a good ten pounds of ammo. I know before I even try that I won't be able to lift the bag anymore.

Scribe Fields emerges from the far side of the school building and groans, "Those bastards had it hanging from one of their whore corpses. Apparently it was some sort of symbol. I think the words carved on her were 'Fuck the Brotherhood.'" As she approaches Baldwin, she holds out a small silver tag on a thin bead chain, a small blue patch glowing at the bottom. "With this, we can officially document him as a fallen Brother."

I don't know if it's appropriate, or if I have any right to know, but having watched Hayes die makes me feel entitled to some kind of information. So I take a chance and ask, "Who was this fallen Brother you keep mentioning? And what's so important about the dog tags?" Placing Redfield's ammo into the bag, I begin to remove any unnecessary items.

I expect some kind of hostile retort, but Fields explains in the softest voice I've ever heard from her, "One tag holds medical information about each Brother, and the other holds their recorded personal information. If they had taken just the medical tag, we could've recorded him and been done with it." She grips the tag in her hand and stares down at the ground. There's something in her demeanor that I couldn't have imagined without seeing. She continues, "But the personal tag is what we use to archive everyone who falls. And to inform their loved ones."

"Senior Knight Edward Fields was…is…Clara's younger brother. That's half the reason she agreed to join the First Regiment—because her brother did." Baldwin places a comforting hand on Scribe Fields's shoulder, offering no more words of explanation to me. I see a tear run down her cheek as she holds the tag tight against her chest.

"I," I don't even know how to begin, "I'm sorry for your loss."

I feel the sting of sorrow against my chest as the words leave me. I _am_ sorry for her loss. But…it's more than that. I'm more touched by her loss than I am my own… Why is that? I don't quite understand why I find no tears when I think of my family burning in laser fire, but seeing Fields so shaken threatens to break my resolve…

I return to my bag. Knight Ewing appears beside me, silent and expressionless, helping me sort my cluttered bag so I can actually carry it. She even offers to take some things into her own bag—an accessory that I had until that moment been completely unaware of—and begins to pack whatever I don't readily want to carry.

Even as I object, she shakes her head defiantly and continues to pack.

In the course of a day I've gone from refugee to victim to prisoner, and now I'm an ally. I might even be more than that. The fact that these professional military-grade soldiers feel so comfortable telling me about their past makes me feel welcome. Have they accepted me as a comrade? A companion? Have I accepted them without even realizing it?

I mean, I'd be dead without their intervention. And even if Spike hadn't killed Michael, how far could we have really gotten with some dog meat, no water, and two pistols? I owe these Brotherhood guys my life, I think. The fact that they haven't asked for it yet makes me feel welcome.

_Footnote: Level Up!  
>Perk Added: Intense Training (2)<br>Effect: Your Endurance is increased slightly_

_Quest Perk Added: Blood Rage  
>Effect: You hate injustice and suffering, but love blood and bullets! Sometimes you lose yourself in the moment! (When this happens, your Endurance and Strength moderately increase!)<em>


	6. Chapter 4

**White Bluff, White Soot**

Even as we walked down the road leading out of Redfield, I could see plumes of steam billowing from a massive white tower in the distance. Now that we're on the road leading directly to the tower, I feel curiosity beginning to set in. The walk has been silent for the most part, aside from the occasional vicious dog or radroach. In the distance I can just barely make out the silhouettes of buildings, the sun falling further behind the horizon line. Power lines guide us on our way, sparks and spotlights illuminating the road as we trudge on. I can only imagine that this path would be beautiful if the trees were living.

The orange glow behind us blinds me as it occasionally reflects from the Knights' helmets. The closer we get to the large white tower, the darker the ground seems to get, the easier my feet seem to sink into what was once asphalt. Clouds of dust seem to erupt as we continue on our way.

We reach a small spot where trees have been cleared away and stop to rest. It's been a full two hours of nonstop walking, four or more miles in all, on top of our march to the Mammoth Orange and the fight with Redfield's Raiders. We're exhausted, our number is reduced to four total. We couldn't hope to bring Hayes or his power armor with us, so we dug him a shallow grave and left his rifle as a headstone.

Head Knight Baldwin explains to me as we sit and drink from bottles of clean water, "Up ahead is a makeshift town the residents affectionately refer to as White Bluff, because of the road signs. It wasn't actually a town before the war—it was just the power plant." He hands me a small holotape and waits for me to hook it into my Pip-Boy. An image appears in the Notes tab, two massive white towers, the one on the left looking out of place and the other slightly taller than the one I've been seeing. "When we showed up, we made a deal with the residents. We keep the plant running optimally, and they let us do our thing. They agreed. You should be able to trade with them; supply caravans come around every few weeks."

Knight Ewing chuckles, "Maybe you can silence the jingling in your damn bag."

"Wait, that's what bottle caps are for?" I ask, almost dumbfounded. Why would bottle caps be counted as…money?

"That's exactly right. You really must be from a Vault," Senior Scribe Fields titters, back to her cold self after the display at the Junior High. "Focus on getting some armor and unloading whatever weaponry you don't plan on using."

"I'm afraid," Baldwin sighs, "I'm going to have to confiscate any energy weapons you have on you, save for your pistol." I realized the moment they took me prisoner for my Pip-Boy that they had a thing for technology. I'm not surprised he said what he did, but it still doesn't sit right with me.

"I'm better with energy weapons than I am regular guns," I state.

He retorts with, "I'm sorry, but if I bring you in there and you have pre-war tech on you, _I'll_ get the shaft. You'll have to hide your pistol as is." I can't see his face anymore, but I imagine his brow is furrowed in non-negotiable seriousness.

I sigh, rolling my eyes, "I suppose I don't have much of a choice. I'll cooperate." As we sit in that small plot of dirt, something begins to nag at the back of mind. I need a past. Something believable, something vague. Something that they can't be acquainted with, while at the same time seeing as plausible. The Overseer told me not to let anyone know I'm from a Vault, and my wasteland ignorance almost blows that concept immediately.

I need a past. My head works quickly, putting together all the things I know about the wasteland and raiders and Vaults and the Brotherhood of Steel. And I think I've got it.

"It's only fair," I begin, my head resting on my knees, "that you should know about me, since I know about your base and Brothers." Fields bolts upright to attention. I imagine she thinks I'm about to reveal the location of my Vault. "I was a part of a tribe of people up north, near pre-war Wisconsin. We roamed the wastes for many years, going place to place to stay away from raiders and other hazards. Most of us younger people stayed at camp while the adults hunted and scavenged for food.

"One day, the adults came back with a massive score of boxed food and water. My people feasted that night. If I hadn't been sick with some sort of illness, I would've ate that food. If Michael hadn't been on watch guard duty that night, he would've joined them. When morning came around, they were all dead."

Ewing gasps, "Contaminated stores… How horrible!"

"Yeah," I whisper weakly. "I recovered soon after, and Michael took me from our camp. We eventually made our way down here, where we camped out in that cave. You know the rest. Since I never went hunting with the adults, I didn't get much experience in the wasteland, unless you count firearm accuracy."

"How sad," Fields mutters under her breath. I see her eyes in the setting sunlight and I feel upset. "What a sad boy you must be."

"No!" I snap, my volume spiking. "I don't want your pity…"

Baldwin chimes in, "Last I checked, our pity is what saved your ass from dying of thirst."

I'm on my feet before I realize it, my face flushing with heat. I have my hands balled into fists for some odd reason. "Don't give me that shit, Baldwin! Your pity is what forced me to watch Hayes die! Your pity is what made me kill Redfield!" I don't know where the words are coming from—they aren't mine as far as I can understand. They just seem to flow from some secret store of rage. "If you'd just let Sunny do what she wanted with me and kill me, I wouldn't have been pumped full of shrapnel and bullets!" Just as suddenly as it began, the angry rant dies. I can see from the way they hold themselves that I've struck a chord.

And there it is, I think. It finally hits me. I'm back on the ground with my head in my legs, tears streaming down my face. All the sorrow I've been holding onto that wouldn't come out decides to explode within me, and I wail in pain and regret. My family and friends from Vault 95 are gone. Michael was murdered before my very eyes by a gun I continue to use against other living creatures. Hayes died as I watched helplessly. I looked a man dead in the eyes and crippled his limbs just to hear him beg for mercy. Whatever I'm becoming, I don't like it one bit. The tears pour because I realize I'm…not the same as I was before.

I hear one of them walk over to me; I feel them pull my Pip-Boy arm from my legs without a fight and begin fiddling with it. After a few moments, music calls out from the wrist computer. An actual song, fast paced and uplifting, though the lyrics are kind of sad.

"_I hear the train a comin' it's rollin 'round the bend  
>And I ain't seen the sunshine since I don't know when<br>I'm stuck in Folsom Prison, and time keeps draggin' on  
>But that train keeps a rollin' on down to San Antone"<em>

I listen closely. The voice is young, southern, familiar. Male. It hits me like a ton of bricks as the song continues to play. My tears seem to stop as I focus on the lyrics, learning the rhythm. I whisper to myself, "Johnny Cash?" I uncurl from my sad position and glance down at the screen. A holotape is hooked into the accessory port, Knight Ewing sitting right beside me humming along. The name flashes repeatedly on the screen of the Radio tab: 'Johnny Cash—Greatest Hits.' Below it stretches a numbered list of songs on the holotape, so many familiar tunes. The Vault DJ was always fond of country-style music.

I smile as the music takes me, shoves my thoughts from my head. I begin to hum. I notice Baldwin tapping his foot in the dirt in time with the beat. Only Fields isn't taken by the song.

It ends, and I wipe the tears from my cheeks. Ewing takes her holotape and the list of songs collapses back into the title. "You should be able to listen to them whenever you want, now." She returns to her small spot.

As I recover from whatever small breakdown I've just had, Baldwin takes his weapon in hand and stands tall. "You'll have all the time in the world to come to terms with everything. We'll get you set up with a room at the hotel, and we'll come get you once we've reported back to our Elder." 'Elder' is a new term to me, but sounds like a position of authority. Their boss, maybe?

I nod silently as we gather our things and continue down the road. The sun has all but gone away as we approach a small chain link gate. The song continues to play in my head as a guard posted in front of the gate stops us. Two large faded stop signs hang on either side of the entrance, with warnings posted below them indicating that everything beyond is government property and trespassing will not be tolerated. Government property, huh? I start to wonder if there's even a government left in the wasteland.

Judging from the chaos I've seen, I assume there's not.

The guard in the booth cheers, "Welcome back, Brothers of the First Regiment! Senior Paladin Clayton had been eagerly awaiting your report." He's wearing a different form of armor from the other Knights, much thinner and less defensive. It looks more suited for stealth than combat. I hear him mumble a few numbers before gasping, "Have we lost a Brother, Knight Baldwin?"

The reply he receives is one of pain, "Junior Knight Hayes fell in the battle to recover Senior Knight Fields's holotag from the raiders. Their leader was using an anti-tank rifle." Baldwin turns away from the booth as the gate slides open without another word.

As I pass the booth, I notice the guard isn't even wearing a helmet like the others. His is a simple helmet, low-tech and basic. Sturdy looking, though. He doesn't even question my presence, either not caring or assuming I'm a prisoner. His eyes do catch my Pip-Boy, and his brow cocks up. The gate closes behind me without a single word exchange. Suddenly, as I look forward, it's as if I'm in an entirely different world!

The old world buildings of Redfield, brick placed in neat patterns and colorful variations, is nonexistent here. Here stand structures of assorted materials, held together by rusted nails and industrial glue. Each building is similar in size to the ones of Redfield, but they cave in in spots that lead me to believe they could collapse if the wind were to pick up too fast. Bright signs patched together from salvage adorn the sides of most buildings, while others simply exist in the darkness of the shadows of the town. A film of white smothers the ground, small clouds kicking up as we walk.

But the most important thing I see now that we've cleared the gate is a short, white platform that sits adjacent to the steaming tower. It's broken and crumbling, jagged around the edges as if it were ice melting in the sun. Every few minutes small tufts of white explode from it, scattering over the surrounding area. A few specks of the stuff land on my bare arm and sting like fire! I flinch away from the pain and receive a look of disapproval from a few stationary people.

Normal people. Humans in actual clothing—though it may be tattered—sit in booths and buildings, staring at the large metal men as they trudge by, followed by a scrawny pale boy. They can see I'm not the same as them, I think. I can feel their judgment as I walk close on the red-robed woman's heels.

And then I notice a common trait among them all: they all stand under some form of shelter. The ones who own shops are sitting in booths, and the others are safe within houses or other awnings of scrap. The Knights are wearing metal armor, and Fields has her robe which, I learn, has a hood on it. Only I'm left exposed to the stinging of the white powder that falls from the broken tower.

A few more painful stings catch me before we come upon a massive shack with a long rectangular window cut out of the front. A sign glows above it that reads 'All Soots of Fire!' The man sitting inside appears tan and wrinkled, his brow knotted in either concentration or frustration. Baldwin approaches him with his hands raised in a peaceful display.

"Good evening, Old Man Miller! We picked up a local who'd be honored to do business with you." He tugs at my shirt and practically slams me against the window. I smile sheepishly at the old man, just as likely to shoot me as he is to trade with me I feel. "He helped us clear out the raiders in Redfield, so he's got plenty of loot and caps to go around!"

The old man perks up in his makeshift rocking chair at the word 'caps.' Or maybe it was 'loot.' Either way, he shifts upright in his chair and smiles a toothless grin. His voice catches me off guard, ringing with excitement usually only found in youth. "Welcome to All Soots of Fire, young'un! Step on 'round the back and we can get some tradin' in before I close!" Baldwin and Fields break away from the shop and head toward a small gate that opens up to the white tower.

Ewing quickly herds me around the back of the shack, timing the short trip in between explosions of white from the broken tower. Is there a rhythm to it? Maybe. Before I know it, we're crossing an out of place solid steel threshold and I feel the warmth of a fire wash away the chill in my skin. The smell of oil and gunpowder floods my nose, and I can't help but let out a violent sneeze.

"Bless ya, young'un!" Old Man Miller laughs, spitting some black liquid into an empty can of…Pork n' Beans? Now sitting in a new rocking chair, he waves for me to join him. "This is my business wall, see?" he coughs.

Ewing drops her bag onto the ground and sighs, "Just make sure you don't sell my holotapes, okay? I've gotta catch up to Baldwin." Before I can respond, she's out the door.

I reach out a careful hand as I approach the old man. "My name's Johnathan; it's a pleasure to meet you, sir." I drop my bag just in front of him and wait for him to take my hand.

He spits again. "Put ya hand down, young'un. I don't shake."

Duly noted. I begin to unzip my bag and remove any items I consider useless to me. The 10mm pistols and bullets, the sawed-off shotgun and most of the combat ones too, along with several pounds of shells. I top it all off by removing the random melee weapons Ewing stashed in her bag as we looted the raiders. I even decide to throw in some of the anti-materiel rifle's standard bullets, considering how heavy they are and how many Redfield had on him.

As I look back up to the old man, I can see his eyes for the first time, a light brown hidden under constantly squinted eyelids. I'm more than a little shocked to see the whites of his eyes so bright, considering his age, and fall back on my ass with a handful of bullets.

I hear him louder and clearer than I thought he could even speak as he hoots, "Hoo-wee young'un, you hit the jackpot! That there's ol' Redfield's gun, ain't it?" He swings a leg and draws my bag right into his lap—a feat I'm almost certain is literally impossible. He runs a hand gently over the rifle inside, stroking the barrel and its muzzle. He whistles, "I remember when ol' Red asked me to polish 'er up!"

This old man…polished the gun…for a raider?

"I know what yer thinkin' young'un, and let me set it straight! If I he'd tried anything in White Bluff, I woulda sent him packing with Little Slapback!" He nods toward a gun hanging just above the inside of the window, a double-barreled shotgun. 'Little Slapback?' Does every wastelander create weird names for stuff? Is that an evolutionary trait?

I smile politely and stand to my feet. "So do you want to trade now, sir?" I ask, waving toward the piles of crap on the ground in front of him.

"Gimme Lights Out and you can have whatever the hell you want!"

'Lights Out?' Two stupid names is as many minutes… But at least Redfield cared enough about it to keep it maintained and named, I guess. He still deserved to die, but whatever. But as I consider the offer, I'm tempted to refuse it. I'll probably never use the rifle in any average combat scenario I might face, but at the same time it killed Hayes. I killed its owner. I feel almost entitled to it, as if it's a trophy of my trials.

"Ya look like you could use some armor. I got a full outfit hangin' in the other room. I'll throw in a hooded jacket too! Name yer price!"

He really wants the gun. How many times has he repaired it, polished it, and oiled it even? I used to read stories about men who grew attached to their guns. One old cowboy had his revolver stolen and burned a whole town to the ground to get it back. Did Old Man Miller grow fond of fixing the thing?

"Okay, it's a deal. If the armor fits, of course."

"O' course! I wouldn't swindle ya like that!" His smile grows so much wider as I agree. It feels good to see him excited over something so trivial, even in his old age in this horrible wasteland.

I enter the door he mentioned earlier and examine the suit of armor sitting right on the other side. A small closet, ammo and other miscellaneous junk scattered about. The armor is thick, some parts made of leather and others metal. There's a thick leather belt around the waist with holsters and pouches for carrying assorted items. Some made for bullets and stimpaks, noticeably.

It looks a little big for me, but I imagine he can adjust it for me. He's definitely more capable than his looks let on. I take the manikin in my arms and carry it out into the main room. I see him rubbing a white cloth against the muzzle, probably trying to clean away the scorch marks.

"The armor's a bit big, but if you can touch it up a bit, we've got a deal!"

He puts the gun on a shelf behind him and whistles, "How old are ya, young'un?"

"Sixteen," I reply apprehensively. Not sure what it matters, really.

"That armor'll last you for years, if ya maintain it! You'll grow into it."

I'm a little annoyed by his dismissal of my request, but he _is_ right. I will probably get bigger as I work my muscles more, considering how rough this one day has been on me. So with a sigh I begin undoing the armor from the manikin, ready to get some sort of protection on me.

"Gonna get cold out here soon. Might wanna wear it over your current duds. And don't forget yer jacket!" He pulls a stick seemingly out of thin air and waves it toward the back of the closet. A thick gray pullover coat with a hood hangs on the wall, covering a small window. As I follow his advice and equip my new armor, I retrieve the coat.

The suit is complex, with buckles and belts in weird places, all converging on a single point over my heart. I think about where Lights Out pierced Hayes's armor and decide the discomfort is worth an extra level of defense. Next comes the jacket, which slides over my head and rests on my armor comfortably. It's much larger than a standard one, so it accommodates the multiple holsters and pouches. It's kinda fashionable, too.

I turn back to Old Man Miller and chuckle, "So, how about we do some real trading now?" His eyes turn back to the remaining crap strewn about on his floor and he smiles excitedly once again.

We go back and forth for several long minutes: he tells me the price he's willing to pay for something, I try to talk him up a bit, he refuses to change his initial offer, and I end up gaining caps on the trade. From guns to bullets to other random loot, I end up making over eight hundred caps! And, while it's a pain to sit and count each individual cap, I had to unload my loot at some point. Frankly, I'm surprised he even had that many of the tiny things. He hands them to me in a massive sack, which I place in my larger, now mostly empty bag.

I put what I want where it needs to go—laser pistol a holster, some of my stimpaks in their little pockets, among other things. We whistle our goodbyes and I head for the door. I cross the threshold and…

And…?

_Footnote: Level Up!  
>Perk Added: Scoundrel<br>Effect: You appeal to people's good sides and they tend to listen to you more! You get better deals at stores and people sometimes pour their hearts out to you!_


	7. Chapter 5

**Captivity**

My eyes shoot open as I regain consciousness, a series of horrible but improbable scenarios running through my head. I don't know where I am or how I got here; I can only remember leaving All Soots of Fire. A familiar feeling greets me as my senses fully return. My hands are cuffed behind my back, and I can't help but chuckle internally as I realize that this makes the fourth time I've been detained over the last month. Three times misunderstandings, this fourth time could be anything.

Rings of blue energy reach out in front of me, trapping me inside the small metal cylinder that genuinely looks out of place in whatever kind of room I'm in. The room is old and rusty, with metal flaking and falling all over the place, whereas the spot where I'm standing is shiny and sturdy. I imagine whoever detained me has only recently finished building this machine.

I hear faint voices outside the door on the far side, anger echoing through the walls. I can't make out what they say, but they certainly aren't agreeing on their choice of topics. I try to twist my wrists out of the cuffs, feeling the flimsy metal bend. Whoever's taken me certainly isn't a group priding itself on quality. I don't feel worried, for some odd reason, despite my missing equipment and questionable circumstances.

The chain binding the two cuffs snaps easily enough. Of course, I can't do much else behind the force field, but I might as well be comfortable in my standing prison. I decide that now is as good a time as any to play the two holotapes left over from Redfield. I was afraid to listen to them on the road because anything could happen at any time. Here I know, at least, what my circumstances are. There's only one door, after all.

Navigating to my Notes tab, I select the one I believe comes second in the timeline—'Home of the Lions.'

…

"My name is Taylor Briggs. If you're listening to this, then I'm long gone. So is Matthew, I imagine. You've probably hacked our terminal and taken our belongings. Of course, if you did, I won't be mad. After all, it probably means Matthew died before he got here. I hate to say that, but I can't bullshit myself any longer. His house was on fire when I went by to check on him. Mrs. Bearden's body was cold on the sidewalk…

This was our old Junior High. We spent three years of our lives in this school, learning math and history and literature. We _wasted_ three years of our lives. And for what? So he could work at the Mammoth Orange for the rest of his life? So I could be a fireman? So we could die during the apocalypse?

But there were a lot of memories here. Some bullies tried to jump me in the seventh grade, and Matthew came to help me. We didn't win the fight, but we gave them hell. One of them ended up OD'ing on Jet a few weeks back. Lucky bastard. The others moved away, either by choice or in fear of the law. Dumbasses.

This was the computer lab I first kissed Sarah Flynn in. Matt had always had a crush on her, and he never said a word to me about going out with her. I kinda regret that. He might not have said anything about it, but I know it had to sting. He got me back, though, dating my sister for a year or two. Bastard.

This school was precious to the both of us, and a helluva lotta other people. When the city voted to close it, I just knew I had to leave some kind of time capsule. So Matt and I gathered some stuff—stimpaks mostly—and tucked them in this safe. He always had dreams of building his own guns, too, so he put a crude sketch of a gun he could make from spare junk in here.

I'm gonna miss him, dammit. I'll miss this whole fucking town. But I guess that's the end of the world for ya, huh? Lives up to its name.

If I don't die before I get there, I'm heading to White Hall. I've got some cousins who loved to collect guns over there. And I think my little sis lives there, unless she moved between last week and this one, which is surprisingly possible in her case.

October 23, 2077: the day my home died. Maybe even the day I die. Who knows?"

…

So Taylor went to the Junior High just like Matthew expected. They really must have been close then. I wonder if Taylor ever considered crossing the bridge. Would he have seen Matthew dying under the bridge and been able to save him with a stimpak from the safe? Would he have been too early, or late? Would he have shown up just in time to make his old friend smile one last time before fading away? So much mystery in the lives of those that came before us, those that could have survived the war and left legacies.

I stand in silence for a few minutes to see if someone will ever show up to interrogate me or torture me or whatever, but nothing changes. So I go right ahead and start up 'Goodbye Redfield.'

…

"Hey Matthew, it's me, Amber. I'm recording this to let you know I'm leaving Redfield. Mom and Dad were pretty serious about it, and they wouldn't listen to me at all when I said we weren't gonna get hit by any bombs. It took just about all the screaming my lungs could handle to get them to come by the Orange. I was sad when I remembered you weren't on shift. I imagine you'll be working sometime this week so I'm gonna leave this behind our special photo over by the dining area. I know you always check there for little notes!

Let's see, today's Friday the 22nd. You should be scheduled tomorrow, right?

Anyway, when you listen to this, I want you to know I love you a whole bunch, and I wish you were here so you could come with us! We're going to White Hall to hole up in my aunt's bomb shelter. If you find the time, you should drive on down! I'll make room for you!

Oh, and I decided to keep him. I think I'll name him Daniel. You always said you liked that name.

I hope to see you soon! Love you!"

…

I find myself rewinding the tape. I don't know why, but I keep listening to the parts about Friday the 22nd, and naming 'him' Daniel. Was that Ashley girl pregnant with Matthew's kid? Or was she talking about some pet? Is it even talking about Matthew Bearden? I can't help but cringe when I think that all three of them—Taylor, Matthew, and Ashley—were mere hours or even minutes from being able to see one another, to be able to say goodbye or see their faces again.

The holotapes in my bag, wherever it is, are testaments to the fact that none of them ended up in the hands of the right person. I have them, which means they never did. I feel sorry for them, those three citizens of what was probably a beautiful old world city.

I hear the door to my cell finally open, a Knight in power armor approaching me with some sort of minigun. An old man in smaller armor follows behind him. A familiar voice tears through the air clearly now that the door is open.

"Elder Wallace, please stop!" I hear Head Knight Baldwin cry out from around the corner.

Stop what? What's he going to do to me? At least now I know where I am. The old man pulls a small electrical rod from his side and activates it with a button on the bottom. The coil on the end bursts to life with blue currents. A Tesla Coil, maybe?

He groans as if he's about to die, "Let's make this simple, shall we Vault Dweller? You answer my questions correctly, and I don't fry your internal organs." Simple enough rules, I guess. "First question: what is your name?"

"I already told—" the door slams shut and effectively silences Baldwin behind its metal.

I take a second to consider my position before deciding it's in my best interest to cooperate. Survival is priority, now that I've broken down and accepted my life in the wasteland. "Johnathan Andrew Neal."

"Good, just as Baldwin reported. Next question: Where are you from? And please don't give me your spiel about a tribe from Wisconsin. I don't want to kill you, you know." The rod continues to channel electricity, even though it seems as if there's no power source. Definitely a Tesla Coil.

I have to choose my words carefully. I don't want to be honest, but he can tell my tribal life is a lie without even listening to me tell it. So I sigh, "I'm from a Vault."

His reaction is almost to stab me with the rod, but he holds back and grunts, "Which one? Please note that if you say sixty-four or fifty-one, I will stab you." His face is cold and his tone is cruel, but I don't sense any real malice in it. He has to have a reason to be doing this.

Fuck it! I'm in the wasteland for the rest of my life! And now that I sort of know what I'm doing, at least I can fight back if those black metal bastards come after me! I've got too much to worry about without dodging questions and making up fake histories! "Ninety-five!" I shout, almost too readily it seems, as he cocks a questioning eyebrow.

"Explain. Our records don't show any sign of this Vault 95, especially not in this area."

"I don't know! But Vault 95 is definitely where I'm from. You confiscated my bag, didn't you check my things? There should be two Vault 95 jumpsuits in there." The secrets come pouring out in an instant. All it took was a single drop to fall for the downpour to begin. "We were attacked on the morning of December 3rd by men in black metal armor wielding energy weapons. The dead Officer Michael whose head is pinned to a cave wall barely a mile outside of the Vault was the only other survivor."

I actually feel good, letting the story go. I feel some sort of weight leave my shoulders, my heart fluttering as the truth comes out.

The old man stares at the Knight with the minigun and shrugs, turning back to me. "Men in black metal armor, you say? Do go on." He seems to believe me for some reason, even though this story is even more preposterous than my fake one.

"Our Overseer opened his secret tunnel and let us escape, staying behind so they could capture him. He believed that if they didn't find his body, they'd know someone survived and would have hunted us down." I think of those last moments, how ready he seemed to be for the whole situation. His tunnel was open and his bag packed rather quickly… "We were attacked by raiders in our cave and they killed Michael. Head Knight Baldwin and his First Regiment Brothers saved me, and took me prisoner for my Pip-Boy."

The old man proceeds to finish my story for me, "You then accompanied them to Redfield, where you defended Senior Scribe Fields at the Mammoth Orange before proceeding to the Junior High to recover Senior Knight Fields's holotag. During the battle, you witnessed the death of Junior Knight Hayes and murdered the leader of the raiders, aptly named Redfield." He knew everything that Baldwin knew, exactly as it happened. They really did tell him the whole thing, surprisingly.

"That's correct," I speak naturally, nodding my head and lowering my arms to my sides. "That's my story, start to finish. If you don't believe me, go ahead and use that Tesla Coil."

His eyes open wide as I say those words. I can't tell if he's impressed or upset, but he switches the rod off almost instantly. "What do you know of Tesla Coils, Vault Dweller?" He scans me cautiously up and down, as if debating whether to gut me or not. His weapon is holstered, but his attitude certainly isn't.

I'm not actually sure how to answer the question. "We had books in Vault 95 that dealt a lot with Thomas Edison and Nikola Tesla. I was always fond of Tesla and his 'infinite energy' ideas." I remember reading my first scientific book, 'Nikola Tesla and You.' I was captivated by his intellectually-backed idealism.

He waves a hand and the minigun Knight pushes a button on the far wall. The barrier of blue fades away, allowing me to move freely again. As I cock an eyebrow, he explains, "If you can take the First Regiment to your Vault, I will believe your story. More importantly, I will believe that you are not another spy working for the Enclave Imposters." Spy? "The last wastelander Knight Baldwin rescued attempted to hack into our defense systems with his Pip-Boy, under instruction from the leader of those bastards."

The door opens and almost immediately Baldwin is in the doorway, perhaps too anxious to know my fate. As I step away from the metal prison, he chuckles, "Thought for sure he was gonna fry you, Local."

"I might still do so, Baldwin. Report to Senior Paladin Clayton and summon Senior Scribe Fields to the courtyard." The old man walks away without sparing a second glance at me. As he turns down the hall he calls, "Bring the Vault Dweller his belongings."

The minigun Knight hurries from the room, holstering the barrel of his gun onto the large ammo pack on his back. Baldwin places what should be a comforting hand on my shoulder and sighs, "I'm sorry about Elder Wallace's actions. The last local did a number on our defenses. Hell, he's the reason we built that holding cell." His helmetless face shines with apology, the first time I think I've seen him actually frown.

"I can't blame him, I guess. After all, he's protecting his people." In a way, I _can't_ blame him. I understand exactly where he's coming from. If I could have used ruthless threats to save my Vault, I would have.

The minigun Knight returns with my bag, dropping it at my feet with some kind of sick anger flowing from his helmet. "We've got our eyes on you, Local," he spits as he leaves the room again.

Worrying about him will only distract me further, so I get right to rooting around in my bag. My equipment is all piled right on top, thankfully, so I start to reequip it. Baldwin groans, "Once you're geared up, follow the signs to the courtyard. And it's probably best if you go straight there—no detours." He leaves as I finish strapping the armor over my chest. My laser pistol meets its holster, my stimpaks their pouches. A few spare energy cells end up in one of the pockets and my smallest satchel of caps lands next to them.

The bag goes over my shoulder again and I leaved the prison with zero hesitation. Hand-written signs point me through the winding halls of the large power plant, passing a small computer room, some barracks, and strangely a tunnel that leads out to the broken tower. I finally reach a massive clearing in the center of the main building that's lined with targets and dummies. Training, I imagine.

Baldwin and Fields are standing in front of a small marker on the far end of the courtyard. I'm greeted with a harmonious, "Glad you could make it!" It almost feels rehearsed, mocking, but I dismiss that to my situational annoyance.

"Glad to not be dead…" I mumble. "What's the deal with this place?" Why would a government-sanctioned energy plant have a massive open field in the middle of it? Doesn't seem very resource-efficient.

"This was an industrial elevator shaft before the war, but it had collapsed in by the time we moved in." Baldwin takes the lead in explaining, but I can't help but think he's doing it out of some kind of sense of guilt. His Elder could've killed me, after all. "We cleared it out, and decided to use it as a training ground for Initiates."

"Enough about that," Fields snaps, "You really are from a Vault, then?" Her eyes shine with the few words she doesn't say: 'Called it!'

I shake my head with a sigh and explain, "My Overseer made it clear not to reveal I was from a Vault. He didn't want those 'Enclave Imposters' coming after me." I notice that they don't seem surprised to learn my actual origin, or at least my newest story.

"You didn't think we actually believed your tribal story, did you?"

I think back to how sympathetic they were to me losing my family, and how I had snapped at them. So they really didn't believe me? Were they playing me? From the way I'd been acting around them, maybe they assumed I was playing it up for believability… No, maybe they thought that my lie was allowing me to cope with the truth. That seems reasonable. Now that I think about it, why would a random tribal have a Pip-Boy and energy weapon prowess?

Before the conversation can continue, Elder Wallace enters from the hallway opposite us. Behind him is a tall man in power armor, dark beady eyes adding a sense of deadliness to his thick black hair—the hair falls back reminiscent of a cobra. The Brothers beside me slap their hands to their sides and shout in unison, "Sir!" A standard military formation, if the old books were accurate.

I stand awkwardly at ease beside the attentive soldiers. The newest Knight approaches me with a stern knot in his brow, eyes eating into me as if trying to read my mind. All of a sudden he relaxes, eases away from me with a warm smile. His voice is steady and calm, despite his obvious interest in the topic. "So you're the Local that helped recover Senior Knight Fields's holotag? I am Senior Paladin Duncan Clayton, of the Mid-South Brotherhood of Steel's First Regiment. I tested and organized every soldier in my regiment personally, and you still manage to survive one of them. Color me impressed." He steps back behind Elder Wallace and assumes the attentive stance.

The Elder chuckles at me, "So you've gained his attention, Local. Good for you!" His face falls serious as he continues, "The rest of the First Regiment will meet you within the armory. You will proceed there once dismissed and gear up for the discovery and scavenging of Vault 95. If you should feel at any time that you are being led into a trap, you have my permission to execute the Vault Dweller." I swallow hard, those words sinking in. What do they consider a trap? I can't help it if those metal men are still there!

The Elder must see my expression shift, because he steps closer to me and adds, "You have warned us of Imposter activity within the Vault; the First Regiment shall be aptly prepared for that contingency." I sigh in relief, that one burden lifted.

And then something in the back of my head sparks to life—a defiant thought that seems to hate my captivity. So I vocalize it without hesitation, "What happens to me once this trip is over? Once you find Vault 95 and all of its dead residents, what then?" I feel like I should know my options. I can refuse their offer and die on this spot, or I can take them to my old home and…God knows what could happen.

"What is it that you wish would happen?" he replies warmly.

I wasn't prepared for that answer. I struggle to think of something I actually want, some course of action that would make me happy in this ruined world. I briefly consider joining the ranks of the Brotherhood, wearing the armor and gaining their respect. The thought fades quickly as I realize I'm not built like them—I couldn't handle it, most likely. I then consider journeying the wastes looking for pre-war treasures, finding old mansions full of loot and memories—even holotapes would be acceptable—but that thought fades just as fast.

And then I consider the simplest possible answer I can come up with. It's the easiest to accommodate, too. "I want to be left alone. No more charging into raider territory, no fighting those metal men, no being taken prisoner because I might be a spy. I just want to live my life, whatever it may be in this wasteland." My answer seems to throw all of them for a loop, as if it were entirely unreasonable to want to be left to my own devices!

Elder Wallace chuckles, "But young man, don't you want some sort of vengeance for your family? If your story holds true, those Imposters murdered so many people you knew. Would you not fight for them as you fought for Hayes or Fields?" The way he speaks rings not with condescension, but with curiosity. Maybe he thinks I really would deserve revenge if my story is true.

I shake my head and sigh, "No revenge. No grudges. I only fought for Hayes because I needed a real reason to kill, to keep me from dying. I'm not going to pick a fight with people who aren't at my throat already." As I explain my motives, there's a twitch in my chest. I feel it against the straps of my armor; it stings.

"Very well then, Vault Dweller. If you do not betray our trust, upon the First Regiment's returning here to White Bluff and reporting their findings, you shall be released from our captivity and allowed to do as you please within the wastes."

I smile at the thought of not having to fight another base of raiders ever again. And then I consider the fact that if we part ways, I may never see Baldwin, Fields, or Ewing again. I shake that particular thought from my head and chalk it up as a worthy sacrifice for my wellbeing.

"Of course," Senior Paladin Clayton stands at ease, "there's no telling what we might find within your Vault. You may feel the spark of revenge ignite while we're there."

With a knowing and sly grin, Elder Wallace adds, "And if that is the case, we will gladly allow you to change your terms of cooperation." It's almost as if he wants me to join them. But…why? They don't seem like the type to just let any unlucky Local join their ranks. What makes me special in his eyes?

"First Regiment, dismissed!" Clayton shouts.

Baldwin and Fields immediately stand at ease and turn toward the eastern hallway. With a silent wave of his arm, I follow close behind them as we wind our way toward what I assume is the armory. Clayton brings up the rear and I can feel his eyes on me, judging me and most likely my motives. I don't feel like he doesn't believe my story—I think he's questioning my terms.

As we cross the threshold into the bright metal chamber, I notice at least four other Knights standing about, weapons holstered and bags packed. They're all wearing full suits of power armor, helmets included, and they all blend together as ordinary soldiers in my eyes. One of them greets me with a standard hello—Ewing.

Clayton chuckles as he joins us, "Elder Wallace has instructed us to outfit you with basic combat armor and an AER9 laser rifle. Your AEP7 won't be much use against Enclave armor." I watch as Baldwin opens a locker and, ignoring the plasma rifle he had earlier, hefts a massive minigun from the bottom. The base of the barrel glows green like the Knight from my cell.

Before I know it, I have a suit of armor in my hands and a rifle in my face.

I feel as if they don't expect this mission to go smoothly.

_Footnote:  
>Temporary Perk Added: In Shining Armor<br>Effect: The Brotherhood Combat Armor provides increased resistance to all energy-based attacks, sometimes reflecting laser and plasma beams right back at their sources!_


	8. Chapter 6

**Silence**

I find it increasingly bizarre that my Pip-Boy's map doesn't have a marker for Vault 95, considering it was the very place I started my wasteland life. I mean, I've lived there my whole life, so it definitely exists. My map hasn't failed me yet with markers for towns and monuments. All I can do is head west with the First Regiment and keep my eyes on my short-range map, which continues to fill out as I pass by rocks and trees and other crumbled fixtures. I'm not entirely sure how it works, but I can't complain.

After several hours of walking—we take our time so as to not wear ourselves out—the sun sits high in the sky. I was apparently unconscious all through the night, standing in that prison cell. They probably drugged me as I left All Soots of Fire. Either that or I should have one hell of a concussion! We're finally reaching familiar land; a tall cliff stretches upward in front of us. I recognize it from the panicked flashes of memory when I first left the Vault with Officer Michael.

Before long, the tag on my map that represents me passes between two thick lines and into a brighter shade of green. My Pip-Boy's recorded this terrain before, meaning I've been here. As I relay that message to the Knights behind me, Senior Paladin Clayton takes point.

"You claimed the Vault was roughly a mile from your Cliffside cave. Any idea which direction?" He scans my map as I zoom out on it. For a short-range function, it does stretch quite a ways. Two miles at least.

The zoomed out screen shows dots of rocks and other obstacles atop a green landscape, all ending at a specific point to the west-southwest of our location. "I assume the Vault is somewhere in the filled in area. Most likely on the south edge of the field." I can't know that for sure, but there really are only two directions I've been: west to whatever waits there and east to Redfield and White Bluff.

"Let's go then," he commands, and his Knights take off without question. Baldwin slaps me on the shoulder as he passes, offering no words. "I'm trusting you, Local, because I don't want the man who helped honor my fallen Brother to die a traitor." Clayton leaves me with that solemn message.

I take it and bottle it up inside my head, knowing he's being genuine, and hurry to keep up with them. My legs are burning from struggling to keep pace, but I refuse to fall behind. If I want these people to trust me, I need to stay strong. If something happens in this Vault, I might end up dead, whether by Brotherhood or Enclave hands. I can't let that happen, not after everything I went through yesterday.

We walk along the cliff facing south. Eventually we come upon a cave in the side and my heart sinks in my chest as I recognize the scent still pouring from it.

"Dog meat…" I groan, not even wanting to consider what else might still be inside. I notice a strange lack of Spike and Bruiser's bodies, but I chalk that up to wasteland favors. Baldwin recognizes the scent as well and stops beside me. Scribe Fields and Knight Ewing join us. This was the place where I first realized just how bad off I was. I became a prisoner. And now I'm taking my captors to the very place my life took a turn. I shake any temptation to enter it out of my head and rejoin the rest of the regiment, not wanting to see Michael's head in the wall.

It's only been a day since he died, but it feels like an eternity! So much has happened; I've changed so much. I've killed people. I've tried to save people. I met a crazy old man that people let run the gun shop. I wonder what the Overseer would think of me.

We follow the cliff ever further south until we reach the edge of the recorded terrain, finding nothing but rocks and dirt. I begin to panic as I imagine the Vault simply disappearing into thin air, leaving me a liar in the eyes of Elder Wallace and sentencing me to death.

I feel the eyes of the Knights I don't know tearing into me. They don't trust me as far as they could throw me, I can tell. Clayton keeps his chin up, however, and laughs, "There's a chance it took your wrist computer a while to connect to satellite feeds. Maybe that's why your Vault isn't there." I was wondering just how it knew all of those old world locations' names. Satellite feeds makes sense, I guess. Then again, how could they have been maintained if everyone trained to do so was dead?

And then my Pip-Boy lets out this intense screeching sound, sending my head pounding and causing every last Knight to rip their helmets off and jam their ears shut! I try to move my arm but it's as if the Pip-Boy has hacked my body, paralyzing me. I feel something in my head, something sickening. The sound stops as quickly as it started.

The Knights glare at me again, this time even less trusting as they wait for me to explain myself. But I can't; I don't understand! I stare at the screen on my wrist and see static where the map just was. Not a minute ago I had a fully functional map! I switch to other functions and they all seem to work properly—excluding the Radio and Radiation tabs. Anything to do with my surroundings, it seems, are disabled.

Out of nowhere, a bright orange light bursts from the cliff side about half a mile south of us. It's bright, even against the sunlight, and calls to me. I feel like I recognize it, if only for a fraction of a second of memory. The Vault!

Clayton understands my train of thought before I even voice it, as he waves his hands in some sort of pattern that I assume is military code. The Knights retrieve their helmets and set out toward the source of the light. It flashes again as we approach. Once every two minutes for exactly five seconds. The static on my screen stays there, clearing every once in a while as if escaping whatever's jamming it.

Jamming it? A jamming signal! Something inside the Vault must be sending out a jamming signal to keep scanners out! Has it always done that, or is it new because of the invasion?

As I dig further into my thoughts, I find myself standing at the mouth of a massive, steep cave. It leads directly to a solid steel gear with the number 95 pressed into it with some other kind of metal. The gear isn't completely pushed into its frame as it had been before Michael opened it. That could be the cause of the light: a warning that the door hasn't closed. I wonder if any other Vault had to make use of that light…on the day the bombs fell… I shake the thought from my mind and step toward the gear. Clayton follows a few yards behind me, cautious and alert.

I hear a faint beeping start to call out. Beep…Beep…Beep.

The others either don't hear it or, if they do, they don't mention it. It gets faster. Beep. Beep. Beep.

Clayton lunges forward and draws me back to him with a careless hand. I hear my shoulder pop as the combat armor takes time to adjust to the movement. BeepBeepBeep.

An explosion. In the exact spot I would've been standing had Clayton not stopped me, a small circular piece of metal explodes. Other explosions follow it, orange lights popping to life just in time to die out. Frag mines. Shrapnel flies throughout the cave, a few shards crashing against and bouncing away from my armor.

How many times does that make now? How many times have I gotten lucky in this wasteland? Not enough to make up for losing my Vault. I open my mouth to thank Clayton, but nothing comes out. A silent squeak, and nothing more. I realize just how shaken I am by the experience. And the Knights continue on into the cave, quickly approaching the entrance. A small console sits beside the entrance with a keyboard and a lever.

Two of the Knights I don't know attempt to force the gear inside the Vault, aware of the hydraulic piston inside that's meant to pull it in. When it doesn't budge, Fields steps up to the console and sighs, "Do you happen to know the password, Local?" She still calls me Local.

I think back. I know the Overseer told us it as we fled. We needed it to get outside. I want to say 'brotherhood,' but that seems too convenient considering…who I'm with…

Did the Overseer…know?

No.

There's no way he could have known about the Brotherhood! It's impossible! It's _literally _impossible!

It's…improbable.

But… He was so ready for Michael and me to flee. He wasn't too panicked by the attack.

Oh no…

"Brotherhood," I state bluntly, beginning to question the events of that morning. It never occurred to me even once that things weren't as they might have seemed. How did the Enclave Imposters even find a weakness in the cafeteria storage chamber? Was there even a weakness to begin with? "The password is 'brotherhood,' believe it or not."

"Convenient," she scoffs, typing it into the console and pulling the lever down.

An alarm rings out, drowning out any other words that might have been exchanged. With a loud metal-on-metal screech, the gear leaves its threshold and rolls off to the side. I peer inside the entrance chamber and shudder as I notice a lack of fluorescent lighting. The inside is dark, hollow, and painfully silent.

As I follow the First Regiment inside, spotlights built into their helmets power on. I turn my Pip-Boy's light on to accompany them. For the first time I realize just how much I miss the hum of the Vault's electricity. It was always there, constant and steady; the hum of the vents and the buzz of the lights were a reminder I was still there. Now there's no sound, not even the shuffling of papers or whirring of computers. It's just silent.

There are three doors leading from the entrance, not counting the way we came. The one to our left, I remember, leads into the Overseer's secret tunnel. I'm not certain about the other doors because I've never been to Level G before, but I assume the central one leads to the elevator at some point. The one to the right could hold anything behind it. I hear Clayton splitting his Knights into teams.

"I'll be in charge of Alpha Team; we're taking the western door. Head Knight Baldwin will take Bravo Team to the north. Senior Scribe Fields and Delta Team will take the east." As Baldwin and Fields take their positions, he approaches his door. "If this one is anything like the others in the region, each path should take us to the Atrium on Level 3. You're with me, Local!"

I can't say I'm upset to be stuck with him; I want to go to the Overseer's office. I have some nagging feeling in my gut, some odd curiosity that only his office can satisfy. I don't know what I expect to find, but I know I probably won't like it when I do. But I need to know. There has to be something somewhere in his chambers that will tell me what I want to know.

Why was he so ready for the invasion? Why did he really offer to stay behind? Why did he choose Michael and me to be in his office at that specific time? He could've called me at any other time, or let my scores go to my quarters. Why didn't he, then?

As we walk down the narrow tunnel, I notice that the power armor is almost too large to fit inside. Occasionally one of the Knights scraps themselves on the sides of the passage and sparks go flying, but the walk is mostly quiet. Clayton flips a small yellow switch on the wall at the base of the stairs at the far end of the tunnel, and a mechanical whirr accompanies the opening of the secret door. Dim light meets us as the Overseer's desk lifts into the air.

The light glows green in contrast to the familiar fluorescent white, and I can't help but sigh as I scan the office. Not only do I not see the Overseer's corpse, but I also don't see any sign of a struggle. It's as if the invaders completely ignored the office—and I begin to feel as if I know why. I hope my hunch is wrong. I hope it isn't true. As the Knights begin to rummage through the officer and its connected rooms, I follow behind and scan their targets even closer. There's more than pre-war technology waiting in this place for me. There's more than just bad memories waiting in the cafeteria.

Answers are waiting somewhere in this Vault. Answers to questions I wouldn't have bothered asking until this morning.

I start with the Overseer's terminal glowing brightly on the back wall. It isn't password protected and doesn't appear to have any security measures. A single file sits on the screen, characters corrupted and written in gibberish. I connect my Pip-Boy to the terminal and download the file. If there's some rhyme or reason to it, I can study it later.

I follow Clayton into the Overseer's personal bedroom and watch as he kicks open footlockers and throws open dresser drawers. He ignores the papers that scatter about and tosses a holotape haphazardly onto the bed. He doesn't even care about the Vault. I take the tape and download it to my Pip-Boy just like the last message. Taking a moment to fish out Fields's earphones, I set everything up and hit play.

"_November 30__th__, 2245, 9:14PM."_ I'm greeted by the Overseer's voice, though I'm not sure why that surprises me. He sounds out of breath and wheezes hard at the beginning. Three days before the invasion. _"I've been to see them. They look just like the pictures I've been receiving—calling themselves the Enclave for some odd reason. I hope nobody noticed my absence."_ He speaks as if he's committed a crime and, as far as I can tell, he probably has. I begin to sort through the scattered papers as he continues.

"_They have a base out in the pre-war chemical testing plant. They claim no connections to the government, but they've adopted the military's power armor. It's been tweaked a bit since the Anchorage holotapes—black instead of white and much creepier looking."_ Pre-war chemical testing plant…must be referring to the Arsenal. Anchorage, the battle against the Chinese. That was the first battle where T-51 units were used in majority, right? _"There's another group of power armored soldiers making base inside the White Bluff energy plant; the Enclave's leader says they keep interfering in restoration efforts."_ 'Restoration efforts?' That phrase sets a fire in my gut! How dare those monsters claim to be restoring anything after murdering an entire Vault?

I follow Clayton slowly down the hall leaving his office as he continues, _"They've given me a choice: I either allow them access to the Vault for their experiments, or they destroy the entire facility with a warhead. I'm not sure how they even could; we survived the Great War after all."_ He hesitates and the sound of shuffling papers scratches into the tape. _"I can't take that chance. The world outside isn't near as bad as you would think. In fact, they have living, photosynthesizing plants in abundance at the Arsenal! I'm certain they have a G.E.C.K."_

G.E.C.K.? What in the world is that?

"_But I can't let them take everyone. What would be the point of that? No, I'll have to select a few of the younger Vault residents to go out into the wastes independent of the Enclave. Which means I'll have to stay behind. Who can I trust to survive?"_ The tape ends there, with a long sigh. It doesn't sit right in my gut, not really. He was willing to give the Vault to the Enclave Imposters just so they wouldn't destroy it? Some good that deal did…

"You have some nerve coming back here, you monsters!" A terrified voice rips through the now-silent hallway. I rip the earphones from my head and drop to the ground in a defensive stance. Clayton and the other Knights do the same, their weapons already aimed. I scan the area with my compass—which now works for some odd reason—and notice nothing but a bunch of blue tags in front of me. Three of them are obviously the Knights, but one sits apart from the rest. "Didn't get enough blood on your boots the first time?!"

A bullet rips through the air, missing all of us by wide margins and clanging against the Overseer's door. Clayton places a finger on his trigger and takes aim, a faint silhouette emerging from the shadows. It's glowing green, I notice.

"Wait!" I shout, slapping his arm down as tries to pull the trigger.

"What the hell Local!" He grunts, shoving me away and taking aim again.

I explain as fast as I can, "He's a Vault resident! The Pip-Boy, the gun. He's not Enclave!" Turning on his spotlight, Clayton illuminates the entire hall and a single frail figure falls to the ground in fear. Blue and yellow Vault suit. Pip-Boy on the left arm.

The figure peaks up from the ground cautiously. He must see my face clearly in the light because he sighs, "J-Johnny? That you?" He starts to unfold from his grounded stance, his hands trembling visibly even from my distance.

Clayton snaps, "He a friend of yours? You recognize him personally?" He doesn't lower his gun, much to my distaste.

"Yes, I know him…" I start to walk toward the frightened resident. He isn't wearing a vest or helmet, so I can only assume he's just a normal person. While I can't place the name to the face, he recognizes me, so we had to at least talk at some point.

As I approach, a red tag pops up over the blue. I instinctively draw my laser rifle and aim it at the resident. He doesn't fall in fear, but his face fills with some sense of betrayal—his eyes shine in Clayton's light and I see them staring into me. I try to be as nonthreatening as I can, but I don't lower my aim. He's a red tag for a reason, right?

He steps to the side slowly and reaches for the wall, as if trying to catch his breath or steady himself. The red tag doesn't move, but the blue one does. I dismiss the thought and chalk the dot up to some random radroach on the next level. That used to happen all the time with radroaches and children getting really frightened. The things may be tiny, but they won't hesitate to pick a fight.

Lowering my rifle, I finish my walk, placing a hand on his shoulder. He looks up at me and sobs, "Thank God you're alive, Johnny!" His arms wrap around me out of nowhere, face next to mine. He's hunched over slightly considering the height difference, but it doesn't seem to bother him. I finally realize how we know each other.

He used to hang out with my dad all the time; they spent hours tinkering with the Mister Handies and designing ways to make the Vault's power expenditure more efficient. My dad had always been concerned with conservation and recycling, considering we were in here until it was safe to leave. And Mr. Edson was right beside him every time he visited the Overseer to voice his concerns.

Mr. Edson releases me and mumbles, "I don't think there's anyone left, Johnny. I'm only alive because I hid in a storage locker in the Vault nursery…" The nursery? That _is_ on Level 1, isn't it? Weird that the nursery would be so close to the Overseer's office. "I saw those monsters taking bodies to the elevator."

"Why would they do that?" I ask instinctively, the thought not sitting right with me. I could understand leaving the kills where they fell, but why go through the trouble of moving them? Senior Paladin Clayton steps up behind us with his weapon still drawn. "Mr. Edson, this is Senior Paladin Clayton. He's a part of a group of soldiers that happens to be at odds with the men who attacked us."

He gasps in fear as he notices the metallic style of armor and I can see in his eyes his desire to flee. He resists the temptation and reaches out a hand. He manages to keep it steady as Clayton takes it. "I'm Curtis Edson, one of the Vault technicians. I don't like the look of you guys, but if Johnny trusts you…"

"We aren't here to harm you, I promise. We hadn't actually expected anyone to be living, based on Johnathan's account of the events of that morning." Clayton's words are colder than I think he realizes, and as he draws his hand back, Edson stands in some sort of paralytic trance. "You said they were taking the bodies to the elevator. Any clue why?"

Snapping back to attention, Edson groans, "No clue. But while I was down on Level 7, there was a man not wearing metal armor giving commands. Something about research." He holsters his pistol and turns away. "I've been living in the Level 5 clinic, but I've been checking the other floors off and on all night. They left only a few hours after they showed up."

"They were gone before those raiders even attacked us…" I mumble out loud, trying to piece together some sort of timeline. I took the G.O.A.T. on the second, we were attacked on the third, and yesterday was the fourth. I glance at my Pip-Boy to confirm the date. Officer Michael and I had been in that cave for almost twenty-four hours…

"Is the Overseer with you, Johnny? Did he make it out?" Edson's eyes shine with hope, though why he cares about the Overseer's fate is beyond me.

"N-no," I start hesitantly, "he stayed behind so Michael and I could escape."

"And is Michael alive?"

"I wish he were…"

As the answer sinks in, we're ripped from our catching up by a voice in my ear. Senior Scribe Fields calls into her communicator, "Senior Paladin Clayton, sir, we're taking heavy fire on Level 3! Those Imposter bastards have made some sort of base down here! I repeat, taking heavy fire in the Atrium!" The voice cuts out as lasers rip through the air.

Head Knight Baldwin's voice follows close behind, "They've jammed the elevators, sir! One of my Knights was trapped inside on Level 4! We're heading up to flank the Imposters!" His communication ends with a loud metal-on-metal clang.

Edson is on the ground before we can even get a grip on the situation. His face is in his hands and his back is pressed against the wall. Short sobs escape him; I imagine he's considering the first attack and how many people died. Maybe he believes he doesn't have a chance at surviving this one.

Before I really know what I'm doing, I slap him across the face with a metal hand. He falls hard to his hands and stares up at me with fear and focus. "Listen up, Vault Dweller!" I begin with an authoritative voice, "You survived these bastards once, and you sure as hell won't die today! Find someplace hidden and under no circumstances are you to leave!" I swing my bag from my back and draw the railway rifle and several stacks of spikes. "If a red tag shows up on your compass and you see something getting close, unload this bad boy into them."

I don't wait around for his response. My bag's zipped and on my back before Clayton gives the order: "Okay Alpha Team, let's go show these Imposters what pre-war tech is capable of!"

And we're gone. I remember Level 1 well enough to know how to find the stairs, so I take point. We wind our way down the stairs and through the tunnels of Level 2, until we find the other staircase. Laser fire echoes around the silent Vault as we head down, our weapons drawn. Standing just in front of us, in the wide open Atrium, stand at least a dozen of the black metal men, all illuminated by Brotherhood searchlights. Their backs are to us as they focus on Fields's and Baldwin's teams.

The Knights get in position and begin to fire, managing to blast several of the Imposters before they even realize they've been shot. Two go down before some lasers fall on us. Another four fall to the mixed fire of Bravo and Delta teams. About as soon as the fight begins it ends, the Knights cheering in victory. I don't even have time to fire a single shot before the Atrium falls mostly silent again. An anti-climax if I've ever witnessed one.

Senior Paladin Clayton cuts through the excitement with a stern, "Stay on guard!" The Knights fall silent at the command, most likely realizing that there could be more Imposters. I consider that possibility carefully. Where did these Imposters come from? They didn't follow us in, or they would've flanked us. Or did they show up just before us? Maybe they left those mines…

"They aren't organized like the real Enclave, but they still have firepower." He steps to the center of the Atrium with his rifle in hand, ready to draw at a moment's notice. "We found another survivor on Level 1, just outside the Overseer's office. According to him, the Imposters were taking the corpses somewhere. Can you confirm?"

Head Knight Baldwin steps forward. "We didn't find any corpses on Level 4—Residential. There were none on our way up here, either," he reports.

Scribe Fields offer up her own suspicion, "I find it weird that, considering the Imposters' use of energy weapons, there hasn't been a single ash or sludge pile anywhere we've scouted."

It makes sense. Out of the few people I've killed with laser weapons, at least two have turned to ash as they died. I find myself considering any alternative to the Imposters' murderous invasion of my home. Were the weapons used only meant to paralyze or stun their targets? Did they not hit any critical areas? Something seems too obvious about the whole thing, like I'm missing one small piece of a puzzle.

"Are you suggesting that they took the residents alive?" Clayton scoffs almost dismissively. I understand his lack of concern; the option seems almost idiotic. "At any rate, we need to scout the rest of the Vault for any salvageable tech."

"One of my Knights is still trapped on Level 4," Baldwin states bluntly.

Clayton nods, "See what you can do to free him. I'm going back to Level 1 to grab the survivor." He holds his rifle high in the air and shouts, "Knights of the First Regiment, our goal is still to scavenge this Vault. The upper levels have been searched, so proceed deeper below ground! Dismissed!" The Knights all salute in unison before scattering back into their teams. Clayton's Knights seem to gather back around me as he heads toward the elevator.

"We're with you, Local. You lead, we follow." One of the Knights takes point in front of the other two, and they don't seem to disagree. I'm not certain why they're willing to follow me considering my title, but it seems reasonable that I might need assistance if any other Imposters are waiting in the bowels of the Vault.

I nod in thanks and turn toward the far wall where all of the other Knights are headed. Beyond the room should be the stairs leading further down. I run through each level mentally as I consider my ultimate goal.

The level below us should be Residential, followed by Medical, with the Classes below it. The Cafeteria and Bar wait on Level 7. The lowest level of the Vault, off limits to anyone not on maintenance duty, should be our Water Purifier Chip, the Vault's Central Air Unit, and other life support systems. I consider the usefulness of a purifier chip in the wasteland, assuming I can find a device to attach it to. It would make living much easier, at any rate.

So that's my goal. The purifier. And maybe some evidence of what the Imposters actually wanted with the residents, if not to kill them.

And the Overseer…

Fuck him.

_Footnote: Level Up!  
>Perk Added: Swift Learner<br>Effect: You're quick to pick up on things that don't quite make sense. You take information to heart and learn faster than others._


	9. Chapter 7

**Pieces of a Puzzle**

The red and white tile floor of the dark cafeteria sets me off worse than I had expected. Blood stains the walls and booths, evidence of the Imposters' initial violence. Even if they hadn't killed the residents in the Atrium, they started with much less restraint, much less discipline. The corpses of those unfortunate enough to be slaughtered from the destruction of the storage room door still lay cold on the ground. I'm guessing they were too battered to be taken with the rest.

But my brother's body is nowhere to be found. Neither is my mom's. So…

"They could be alive…"

One of the Knights that followed me down to Level 7 groans, "Are you sure you want to be here, Local? We can let the other teams scavenge this area." I can hear sympathy in his voice, even if it is fake.

"No, I have to know for sure how those bastards got in here." I shake the sobs from my nerves and stomp toward the storage room, my heart heavy in my chest. Of all the things that have bothered me since leaving the Vault, why would it be a few blood stains that shake my resolve? The storage room should hold at least one answer, and probably several new questions.

The light on my Pip-Boy barely helps me any, and by the time one of the Knights' spotlights illuminates the area I've landed hard on my knees. A large metal box sits in the center of the room, blown out of place by some sort of explosion if the scorch marks are to be believed. Opening it up, I see bottles of clean water scattered about without any sort of organization. I take one without a second's thought and down the contents.

A slight breeze hits me as I finish the bottle. My nerves are still shot, but at least I can keep it together. The Knights approach the far wall with weapons aimed cautiously. I follow them with my own rifle ready to blast anything that moves. The breeze feels good. It's like music against the silent Vault.

They let me take point as we squeeze behind a misplaced massive steel plate. I see a faint light break through a series of jagged rocks that stretches upward for what looks to be at least a mile. A mile upward from Level 7, past deadly rocks and out of a narrow chasm sits the outside world, radiation and raiders and death. Those monsters climbed down this chasm and broke into my home. To what purpose still remains a mystery…?

"We need to report this to Senior Paladin Clayton. I'll stay in the cafeteria until he arrives; the rest of you should go ahead with the Local." One of the Knights waves us back into the facility, past the steel plate and into the blood-stained cafeteria. "Be safe, be alert."

For the first time, I notice that the four Mister Handy robots that used to serve us food at every meal seem to have vanished. Those bastards stole Wadsworth and Penny! For some reason, that thought makes me angry. Maybe it was because my dad built Penny from scratch, or maybe it was because Wadsworth used to love telling stupid puns. Either way, another part of my home is missing, and that pisses me off!

But I return to my original goal: reaching the Water Purifier Chip on Level 8. If I get nothing else from this visit in terms of evidence or answers, I at least want something that can make the wasteland more bearable. We stomp our metallic stomps deeper into the Vault, following the signs that used to warn me not to go further. Now they stand as signs that I'm going the right way despite the twisted nature of my home.

And when we reach the locked door that insists the area is 'Inaccessible,' I know we've reached my destination. I dismiss the Knights to search the rest of the level while I fiddle with the lock. My dad used to tell me stories about how he would lock his keys in the restricted area and have to pick the lock. He'd relate my skills with a screwdriver-bobby pin combo to his own, saying it was genetic. Maybe it was. I open the old tool cabinet that used to be his own personal storage locker to find a screwdriver and several small packs of bobby pins just tucked away in the corner.

He was dead for five years and they never even cleaned out his locker? Respect. Or negligence.

For the first time in almost two weeks, I have the perfect opportunity to test out my picking skills. I've really been itching to do it ever since finding Matthew and Taylor's safe in the Junior High. I unbend the bobby pin until it's at about a ninety-degree angle and stick the jagged end into the lock. I gently place the head of the screwdriver against the inside edge of the keyhole and begin to push it.

The bobby pin catches and I draw the screwdriver back. I turn the pin clockwise slightly and try again. The lock continues to spin with the screwdriver until the keyhole lays horizontally, and I hear the door unlatch. Withdrawing the pin and driver, I lift the should-be-automatic door open before it has a chance to lock, the holding mechanism snapping it in place.

I leap back in fear and end up falling to the ground as the figure of an Imposter fills my view. The golden eyes look ready to fire lasers, the weird horn-like bulges on the helmet resembling demons from pre-war fairytales. I've never seen one of these monsters so close.

I expect him to aim his rifle and fire. Only, he doesn't seem to even realize the door has opened. I stand carefully and approach him with an outstretched hand. I touch the rifle in his hands and he tumbles to the ground with a disturbing metallic crash. A small bag lands with a thud as it spins around his back. He's dead?

My two escort Knights come darting into the room, weapons aimed. "What happened?" one of them calls as if itching for a fight.

I point at the Imposter and sigh, "He was hiding behind the door, must've died at some point." Reaching down to gather his small bag I add, "Startled me, that's all." From the bag I draw two holotapes, one with a small yellow '95' on one side. The other looks beaten and dirty, exposed to the wasteland elements. I hook each one up in turn and analyze the titles.

The beaten one comes up with the title 'Experiment Alpha-Gamma,' while the Vault holotape reads 'Trapped in a Fucking Closet!' I decide to give them a listen, ignoring my earphones in favor of being aware of my surroundings. I start with the old tape, hoping it actually plays all the way through without corruption. I hear a few more Knights enter the room as the voice begins.

…

"Listen up, you useless sacks of shit! This isn't some walk in a park, so you better keep your asses focused! This is the last Vault in the Mid-South, and we can't have a repeat of Vault 64, understand? We need what those snobs called 'pure humans' if we want this stuff to work. (cough)

We have a whole bunch of that FEV stuff stashed deep in our base, but no subjects to use it on. We tried some of the locals from White Hall, but all they did was melt into weird eight-titted dog things. Weird tongues, too. No, if I'm reading that info salvaged from the terminals right, we need some Vault Dwellers. That's your job.

I'm dispatching you lazy bums out to a Vault hidden in an artificial cliff that was built before the war. Even those Brotherhood dumbasses don't know this Vault exists, and they own the fucking Vault-Tec building! What a buncha— (cough)

Anyway, there's a small hole near the top of the cliff that should be just big enough to climb down into. From there, it's just a matter of well-placed explosives to blow open a weak panel on the Vault's exterior. Should be in the caf on Level 7 if the blueprints are right. Apparently the weakness was part of the pre-war government's 'Social Experiments' or some shit.

If the stuff on the computer is right—and considering it comes straight from the pre-war horses' mouths, it should be—then pure humans will give us an army of super powerful men that'll obey everything we say! So, here's the hard part:

You gotta take those sorry sons of bitches alive! Since that Overseer ain't cooperating with us, we gotta force our way in. Oh, and make sure the Overseer gets here in one piece. I wanna kick his ass myself.

If any of you go dying on me, you know the punishment. You've seen what the shit does to dead people. Have fun. Oh, and try not to damage the Vault too bad. We don't want those Brotherhood bastards receiving a distress signal like last time.

Dismissed, jackasses!"

…

As the tape ends, I take role in my head of everyone present. The silence is jarring. All of the Knights are counted for, at least the ones I remember, and Mr. Edson is standing in a corner next to Senior Paladin Clayton. The silence spreads, as if our hearts aren't even beating, the lack of sound disturbing and eerie.

"Oh God no!" Senior Scribe Fields screams in horror as the silence becomes overwhelming. Most of the Knights turn to her in shock, but Clayton shakes his head as if he understands. With her hand clasped over her mouth, she groans, "Not this again…"

"W-what? What's so bad?" I stammer, my heart rate increasing. This time, I know, it has nothing to do with rage, but true fear. Something in her tone seems piercing and despaired. My mind snaps to the 'FEV stuff' the voice mentioned. "What was he talking about? Super humans?"

Clayton roars to his Knights, "Attention!" Every Knight adopts a military stance, their guns held flat against their chests. He ignores me as he orders, "This information is critical priority as of this moment! We need to return to White Bluff and alert Elder Wallace that the Imposters are en route to creating another Super Mutant army!"

Super Mutant? Army? What?

"We may not have much time left to stop them, if any. Time is of the essence now. Dismissed!" The Knights share a loud grunt before pouring through the door leading to the stairs. One after the other, they all seem to instinctively head for the exit with haste.

Head Knight Baldwin places his hands tight on my shoulders and sighs, "I'm afraid your friends are in big trouble, Local. Those Imposters don't know what they're about to unleash." He turns to face Mr. Edson as if he was directing it to both of us.

Fields shakes her head as she asks, "How many residents were in this Vault? I know it was built for at least two thousand, but how many actually lived here on the day of the attack?" Her arms are crossed in concentration and most likely frustration, something about the situation eating into her psyche.

"I-I don't know…" Edson mumbles in confusion, lost in the dark just like me. "Maybe nine hundred, maybe more."

Walking toward the stairs, Clayton groans, "They haven't figured it out completely yet. Any human can become a Super Mutant, not just pure ones." He stomps his boot and shouts, "Move out, Knights!" Fields and Baldwin nod and rush into the stairwell. Edson and I follow close behind.

I can see the technician trembling as we jog up the stairs behind the First Regiment, his knees weak and teeth chattering. It seems they've abandoned their goal of scavenging tech. Apparently I have too.

I stop without warning and nearly end up tripping him. As he turns to question me, I wave him away. "You'll be safe with them. I have business to take care of." He doesn't wait for an explanation—he knows he doesn't warrant one. He hurries to keep up with the Knights and leaves me behind with what I hope isn't a second thought.

I've no business with the Knights, anyway. Other than the rifle and armor, I've got no reason to return to White Bluff. I've done my job, brought them to this hollow shell of my home and helped them search for tech. Once they report back to Wallace, I'll be officially free of their custody and able to do what I want. That was our deal.

I return to the dead Imposter and enter the small room he'd hidden himself in. I see why the power isn't on: the Imposter's sidearm must've made a connection with the generator and overcharged it. A small puddle of black goo coats the top of the sparking generator box, pieces of casing missing and the pieces that remain being scorched. The energy discharge must've killed the Imposter.

I carefully step around the generator and examine the Water Purifier machine. It's smaller than I imagined, about the size of a refrigerator. In the center of the front panel sits a large box chassis with glass tubes and wires protruding from it. The machine's too large for me to carry, and I feel that the box is useless on its own. I remember studying the way the purifier works before I took my G.O.A.T. The 'Purifier Chip' doesn't do any actual purifying, but rather powers the machine that does.

But I unhook the chip and unfold its chassis—which acts as a functional carrying case—and place it in my bag. The box is large, but only adds about five pounds to my burden. On top of that, the chassis should be sturdy enough to keep it from getting damaged while I have it.

A new thought occurs to me.

What am I going to do with the chip? Unless there's a settlement like White Bluff that has a machine and no chip, what good will this do me? What good will it do anyone without a machine to power? I fear I didn't think this plan through.

I scan the rest of the restricted room in the hopes of finding something worth taking on its own merits. I find a box of sensor modules, good if you want to build a robot or mine, but otherwise useless. I stuff it in my bag. If nothing else, maybe Old Man Miller will buy them. Below the box sits a holotape that I don't hesitate to download onto my Pip-Boy. It looks old, but not beaten, so I assume it belonged to someone in the Vault.

There's no audio message on this tape, just a text document that loads. The title of the document is 'My Last Mistake.' I start to read it with curious assumptions.

"_Jacob was right! He was! Five years ago, he said we needed some kind of defense systems, since people are so weak. I didn't listen. When we were building Penny, he kept trying to install weapons protocols and guns, and I wouldn't let him! I told him we'd get sacked if the Overseer found out, but now we're under attack! Five years later and he knew it was coming! I keep hearing the PA system go off, an officer or two calling for backup on Level Whatever. Metal men with energy guns!"_ Jacob was my dad, and the author helped him build Penny. So that means this message was written by Edson!

"_I can't believe I'm going to die down here. I tried to find Penny and Wadsworth, but by the time I got to the cafeteria, they were gone. Now we're defenseless and I'm a coward. I think that's the last mistake I'll ever make, though it was five years in the making. Should've let Jacob go with his instincts."_ The message ends there, but I feel it was meant to be continued. Something about it feels wrong, empty.

The title of the other holotape I found on the Imposter catches my eye. I guess he _was_ trapped in a closet. I start toward the stairs with my Water Chip in tow as I hit play.

…

"How the fuck do you make a closet that locks from the inside? _Why_ would you? If they're already in the damn thing, I think you're a little late to stop them from finding whatever the hell you wanna keep secret! Whatever. Those pieces of shit will be down here any minute to let me out. I'm their captain, they need me! If they report to Walker without me, they'll be punished and they know it.

But I've been down here for about an hour now. I haven't heard any PA shouts. Or lasers. Maybe they fuckin' left me to die! Or maybe they don't notice I'm gone. Whatever. Their loss. One of them Vault Dwellers are gonna come running down here to hide from us 'metal monsters' and let me out on accident. Laser to the face!

That'd make me feel great! To just blast one of— (explosion)"

…

I find myself in the Vault elevator as the tape ends. I guess I'm not good at multitasking, because I don't remember how I got here. But the tape explains a lot, I guess. He went to loot the storage closet and got locked inside, then hit the generator and died. Simple enough. Stupid enough to suit those bastards. The elevator dings as I reach my destination.

Level G, the Vault entrance. The gear is still missing from the frame, not high enough priority to bother closing. After all, the residents are already dead… Or worse, according to Baldwin. I start my trek back into the wasteland and as I walk up the steep cliff-side cave I realize that the Knights really didn't wait around for me. They were gone as fast as they could be at the mention of the 'FEV stuff.'

As I step into the dim sunlight of the cloudy sky, I realize that I don't really know of any other settlements besides White Bluff. The voice on the first Imposter holotape mentioned White Hall, but there's no telling what kind of place it is. I can see it on my Pip-Boy's long-range map, which apparently has no problem working now for some reason. I notice the orange Vault light is no longer flashing.

Even in the short time I was inside the Vault, things have changed. Is that just what the wasteland is? A land of change and confusion? Sounds about right, really.

But there's so much I still don't know.

According to the voice on the first Imposter holotape, the Overseer refused to give them access to the Vault. So at least I now know he didn't betray us. They knew about us before he ever sought them out, even if the Brotherhood didn't. I know that they needed my Vault residents alive for their experiments, and that my mom and brother weren't corpses in the cafeteria. Which means they're a part of the experiment.

I know that my life is ruined as far as how safe I'll ever be again. I know that, in the right situations, I have the desire to kill people. I know that the Brotherhood is concerned about the Imposter's activities. I know that I don't owe them anything else, but I feel like I do. I feel as if I need to be with them, if only to help stop the Imposters.

I know they ignored me when I asked what Super Mutants were, or what they meant by 'army.' I know they don't care about me or my fellow Vault Dwellers, not really. I'm just a Local who happened to be in the right place at the wrong time.

So why do I feel compelled to return to that power plant?

Why do I feel like I'm being watched?

_Footnote:  
>Quest Perk Added: Divine Intervention<br>Effect: Just when you think you're out, they keep pulling you right back in! 'Who are they,' you ask? Well, that's simple really…_


	10. Chapter 8

**Destiny? What a Joke!**

Before I really understand what I want to do, I find myself walking down White Bluff Road a few miles west of Vault 95. This time, I feel relieved to be leaving the bunker behind, knowing that whatever tied me to it has been removed. Before, there was always a thread of hope that maybe someone I loved could survive the attack. Now I know that they did live, but to what end I'm still clueless. I have so many doubts about returning to the power plant, but at the very least I need to return my equipment to the armory.

A heavy wind blows in from the south, chilling me to my bones. December 5th. Three weeks before the pre-war holiday of Christmas. 'Tis the season!' I'd hear the adults cheer all the time. Funny that the children would be less interested than the adults. Or maybe it makes sense. I guess once you've lived cramped up in metal walls your entire life, you have to accept some kind of distraction.

I've been thinking a lot about my dad on this walk back to White Bluff. Something about finding his old locker and reading Edson's thoughts on his plans to build a security robot causes memories to surface. Like our last Christmas together. Five years ago, 2240. I'd just turned eleven the week before, so we'd pretty much celebrated the holiday already. Went ahead and got both occasions out of the way—'efficiency' he used to call it.

He gave me a copy of _The Big Book of Science_ and a hand-made 1/20 scale Mister Handy. How he managed to put Lil Swiffer together I never did understand. The robot could actually respond to commands, assuming they weren't too large-scale for him. The fact that the Overseer let him do it to begin with was astounding.

But the book was the best part, I think. I was always smart, and he could see that, so he wanted me to soak in everything I could. Hell, I actually asked him to help me disassemble Lil Swiffer, and he said yes! All the work he did he just took apart, all because I wanted to try it myself. He died on Christmas Eve; cardiac arrest was the official diagnosis. I don't know if I ever believed that. It seemed too simple, too clean. To have my dad taken from me so suddenly was…hard.

Mom and I never celebrated Christmas after that. We tried to be 'jolly' for my brother, but it wasn't very convincing.

And now I'm in this wasteland, no Christmas trees, no snow, just this piercing cold wind and death. I try not to live in the past. In fact, until the attack, I'd never given my past a second thought. I broke down in our little camp yesterday and cried for the first time in years, because I hated my fate. I hated that I was stuck here without my family or friends.

But the more I think about it, I can't help but feel like this was meant to happen. It's so stupid to think this way, to think that this had to happen the way it did. But why would the Imposters have waited until just this year to attack us? How long have they known about us? I want to know the answers to these questions, but I don't think I'm willing to storm their base to get them. I want the puzzle to piece itself together, but life doesn't work that way.

Before I know it, I'm at the small metal gate and guard booth. The soldier greets me with a silent nod and pushes his little switch. As the gate slides open, I hear a familiar voice call out to me.

"Johnny! You decided to come back after all!" Mr. Edson waves his arms violently from underneath the All Soots of Fire front awning. He attracts everyone's attention, much to my embarrassment, before Old Man Miller knocks him in the back of the head with his cane. The old technician falls silent instantly.

I approach him with haste, wanting to avoid the next burning explosion from the broken tower. Once I reach the window, Old Man Miller greets me with a hoot, "Well if it ain't my favorite customer! How ya doin' young'un?" His toothless grin drives away my gloomy thoughts.

"I'm fine, sir." I turn to Edson before remembering the burden in my bag. "I may have some more loot for you, if you wanna trade it."

"What're we talkin' here?"

I drop my bag carefully despite the Water Chip's sturdy chassis and draw out the box of sensor modules. The window opens just enough for him to grab it from the bar and examine its contents. I see him eyeing me cautiously, like I'm trying to trick him or something. He sets the box down on his side of the window and cocks a questioning eyebrow toward me.

"Th-they're sensor modules…" I mutter, not exactly sure what he wants from me. I mean, surely he knows what sensor modules are. "If you want to buy them, they're yours."

"I know what they are, jackass, but where'd ya find 'em?" He tosses one in the air and catches it then runs his other hand down the antenna. He taps the red wire at the top gingerly. "Never seen so many in this good of shape before."

I let out a sigh of relief; he wants to know why they're so pristine. For a second I feared he thought I was trying to sell him faulty parts! "I found them in Vault 95's storage area when I escorted the Brotherhood over there." He looks at me awkwardly, putting the module back in its box.

"Alrighty young'un, since ya sold me Lights Out, I'll take these buggers off your hands!" His grin grows wider at the mention of Lights Out…Redfield's gun. I have to fight a shudder as it grows in my chest at the thought of the way I killed the raider scum. "Thirty caps each, final offer!" he hoots.

"Deal!" I chuckle, reaching a hand through the window. Then I remember that he doesn't shake and quickly draw it back. I'm not sure how much sensor modules would actually be worth, but since he's an arms dealer and not a mechanic, I figure I'm getting a good deal.

He counts the modules and begins to count the caps.

"Johnathan Andrew Neal, by order of Elder Wallace of the Mid-South Brotherhood of Steel, we are to escort you to our debriefing room. You will accompany us peacefully, or you will be taken with force."

Two armored Knights approach, both carrying large glowing miniguns focused right on me—or at least the general area. I look at Old Man Miller expectantly, as if he'd tell them to fuck off until he's done counting caps. Instead, he keeps on counting.

Edson looks at me with more than a little fear in his eyes and he chuckles, "I'll take care of your bottle caps for you, Johnny. Just come see me when you get a break." The Knights take a stern step forward.

I can't help but roll my eyes at the inconvenience. I should've expected something like this. Coming back to White Bluff was like screaming for the Brotherhood to drag me into their discussions. After all, it's my Vault that's been attacked. _Of course_ I'll want to help them!

"We had a deal," I speak bluntly, defiantly. I don't move.

"Yeah? The First Regiment requested you personally. They've been waiting. Far as the deal's concerned, you're still our prisoner." The Knight on the right lifts his gun higher as if taking aim, not like he'll really need it. "Come peacefully, Local."

Not giving me much of a choice. "Whatever…" I sigh, raising my hands in innocence. I kick my bag gently toward Edson as I walk away from the window.

It's a cold, silent walk. The Knights don't even try to talk to me, and I couldn't care less about making idle chit chat. I feel their eyes tearing into me as they make me take point. More than once I feel the barrel of the right Knight's weapon jab into my back. What, am I walking too slowly for you military jerks? Not like I'm going to make much difference in the debriefing anyway.

It takes us a few minutes to enter the facility and wind our way through the halls. We reach an expansive room with a long wooden table in the center, computer terminals scattered about randomly. On the wall hangs a massive red banner, the Brotherhood insignia etched in gold: a long sword in front of three interlocked gears, a pair of wings stretching below them. A nice symbol, if a bit vague.

I'm greeted by Elder Wallace's condescending voice. "I hadn't pegged you for a sentimental boy. You certainly spent a long time in that facility." Something in his tone angers me, mocks me. "No matter; you're here now."

"We had a deal," I echo myself, annoyed by the concept of being a prisoner. "I was going to return the equipment, of course."

"Have a seat, Local," the old man waves at a chair in front of me. All the other important Knights are seated on the opposite end. "Senior Paladin Clayton refused to continue our deliberations unless you were present."

The Paladin in question glances toward me before standing up. He sighs, "This is just as much your concern as it is ours, Local." A small projector wired to the top of the room whirrs to life, faint images appearing on the wall behind Wallace. "The lives of the people you used to know are riding on our decisions today."

"No, those lives are riding on _your_ decisions. I've got nothing to do with this." My voice is even colder than I wanted it to sound, but the words are true. As far as my priorities are concerned, I gave up on the Vault the minute Michael hit me with his baton and told me to calm down. "I've already told you I want freedom, not revenge."

Elder Wallace shifts in his seat so as to rest his elbows on the table. He looks at me and groans, "There have been others before you, Johnathan. Other normal individuals who were dragged into doing great deeds despite their conflicting ideas." His pause is unnecessary and annoying, but he's old and needs a breath. "The story of the Vault Dweller who defeated the Master's Army comes to the forefront of my mind. The Brotherhood Archives speak volumes of his achievements, going so far as to establish an entire community after being banished from the Vault he journeyed to protect." He stares into me, judging me.

Vault Dweller? Master's Army? He was…banished…from his Vault?

"But I'm not like him," I shake my head. "I'm just a kid who was in the wrong place at the right time. If I'd been anywhere else in the Vault, I'd probably be with everyone else right now…"

"Exactly!" Wallace slaps the table, standing from his chair with more energy than I expected. "So why is it that you _weren't_ in any other room? Coincidence? Surely not!" The screen behind him flashes to show an image of a man in a Vault 13 jumpsuit with a dog at his side. Underneath is scribbled the words 'Vault Dweller' and 'Dogmeat.'

The elder continues, "There was another man, just a few years back, out in California. He was descended from the Vault Dweller, born in the very community his ancestor helped establish. They'd long since become a group of intelligent Tribals, but their leader told stories of the Vault Dweller's deeds. And the Vault Dweller's grandson took on a task to help that little community survive." Where is this going? I don't care about heroes out west, I care about living my life!

"They called him the Chosen One, destined to do great things. He did more than save the village of Arroyo; he saved the _entire_ wasteland from the Enclave's experiments with the FEV virus mentioned in your holotape."

The Vault Dweller vanishes from the wall and is replaced by a large man with war paint on his face. A massive disfigured creature stands tall beside him wearing a shoulder pad made out of a pre-war tire. Creepy.

Clayton coughs, "That thing beside the Chosen One is what we call a Super Mutant. This one in particular went by the name of Marcus and helped the Chosen One on his journey. He was one of many remnants of the Master's Army that the Vault Dweller stopped. The Master used the FEV to turn humans into those things. But not all Super Mutants are intelligent or capable of rational thought." The picture shifts again to an image of a group of those monsters standing over mangled corpses and puddles of blood. "Most of them just want to kill."

"The Enclave Imposters," Wallace takes the reigns again, "is using your fellow Vault residents for its FEV experiments. With almost nine-hundred people to work with, they'll eventually get it right. And when they do, when they figure out that it takes however long to avoid making a Centaur, we'll be up to our necks in raging monsters." The image flashes away and is replaced by one of a…

Something! It's hideous, like it's melting! Its head is balding and it has weird tentacles running from its mouth; the thing's chest is covered in lumps and it looks like it's sloshing around on the ground. It takes everything in me not to vomit.

"That's a Centaur…" Senior Scribe Fields mumbles.

Wallace continues, "Edson and yourself are the only survivors of your Vault, but he isn't capable in combat. You don't think that somehow, in some way, you were meant to do this?" His words reek of ignorance for a man so old. How long has he lived that he can honestly say he believes in—what, destiny? "It may sound insane, but I've witnessed it with my own eyes. The Chosen One saved the wasteland, just as his grandfather before him. I don't think that it could ever be coincidence that they were special."

I can't hold back a chuckle as he finally stops talking. He looks me in the eyes as I sigh, "Destiny's a bunch of bullshit and you know it! You think it was destiny that destroyed our world? Was it destiny that sent those raiders to my cave to kill Michael? Destiny that took my life from me?" My humor melts into anger as I consider it more and more. "If it was destiny that ruined my life, then I don't want any part of it! I have a choice, just like those other guys did."

The Brothers in the room share looks of concern. Were they relying on me agreeing to help them? How stupid could you be? I've already told them I don't care!

"I'm not a hero and I'm sure as hell not some pawn for you to play with. We had a deal. Whatever you do with those Imposters now is none of my business." I can feel the anger in me as I consider my words. My head is screaming for me to leave them alone, to be free, but my heart is trying to drag me the other way. After all, my mom and brother are part of that experiment. The least I can do is try to help save them, right?

Elder Wallace sits in his chair as the picture on the wall changes again. This time, it shows a large vat of goop sitting in the center of a ruined building. There's a biohazard symbol on either side of the large 'Forced Evolutionary Virus' label. FEV. Evolution?

He sighs, "If you truly wish to leave your acquaintances to their fates, you may return our equipment to the Armory and be on your way. Just know that, should you find a monster out in the wastes days or weeks from now, that it was most likely someone you lived with in that metal shelter." The way he says it really strikes deep. If it does come down to it, and I meet a Super Mutant from Vault 95, would I be able to pull the trigger?

Of course. Because the wasteland is full of monsters. Including me.

"Am I dismissed?"

_Footnote:  
>Temporary Perk Removed: In Shining Armor<em>


	11. Chapter 9

**Confusion in the Wastes**

A burning sensation in my wrists awakens me. My heart immediately picks up, pounding painfully in my chest as my eyes adjust to the light around me. I try desperately to take hold of my memories, wondering just what I had been doing to end up in this macabre place. Skulls line the walls, hung from cords or skewered on metal spikes that have been crammed in the flooring. I shake the confusion from my head, trying to understand my situation.

I run through the things I know as facts.

I had told the Brotherhood that I wouldn't help them with their attack on the Enclave Imposters. I'd returned my issued equipment and met up with Mr. Edson to gather my things. We went to what was considered the settlement's bar and drank a little. He rambled on to the bartender about how bizarre the wasteland was while I listened to The Buzz on my Pip-Boy.

I don't remember the passage Purity recited. I don't remember the song that played afterward. I just remember feeling an intense desire to go to Rockville. I told Edson about it, and after listening to one of the broadcasts, he agreed to join me.

The rest is still a bit fuzzy. We slept at the makeshift hotel and left first thing in the morning. There's a huge blank spot there in my mind; one second we're leaving the hotel and the next we're running from raiders. I don't know how big of a gap, but it had to be at least three hours, because I remember looking at my Pip-Boy's clock before falling unconscious.

My wrists rip me from my recollection. They're bloody, the flesh torn with thick ropes digging into them. I get the taste of iron in my mouth—more blood, I assume—as I feel my throat burn with thirst. I try to take a breath to soothe the burning only to find my mouth sealed with something, maybe tape or cloth, I can't really tell in my stupor.

But I hear a voice beside me cough, "You finally awake, Johnny?"

Mr. Edson. I nod, not certain if he can see, and speak my muffled confirmation.

"Good. The way that woman was beating you, I wasn't sure you'd make it…" He sighs in some kind of mix of sadness and relief, "I'm sorry, Johnny. This is all my fault…" I cock an eyebrow silently. He must notice, because he starts to explain. "The post office. We were fine until one of them stirred up some dust. My asthma and all."

The memory bursts in my mind as he talks. We were following the highway north to the ruins of Little Rock when our road crossed some railroad tracks. We'd heard some gunshots, so we took off running down the road, into a small abandoned neighborhood. We found shelter in a post office that turned out to be the raiders' camp-away-from-camp. What luck!

"Quiet over there!" a gruff, dumb-sounding voice screeches. "Or do ya want s'more bruises? I don't like my meat tender!" I assume it's the woman Edson mentioned.

With the events leading to my capture filled in, I can relax and focus on the location. We're outside, if only barely, sunlight cascading around the crumbled walls of an extremely old brick building. If I didn't know better, I'd say this place had taken the full blast of a warhead. Edson sits trembling a few feet to my left. Just ahead of us is a small circular wall, five bricks tall, with flames blazing within. The smell of wood burning catches my nose for the first time.

Five raiders stand at different distances from the fire. The smallest of them stands just beside the pit, tossing hunks of dead tree into it. He's wearing a thick mask fashioned out of burlap sack with two small slits for eyes and thick rubber gloves. The pants are minimal, shoes nonexistent, and shirt in tatters. He's tiny, for a raider.

There's only one woman present in the group, and she stands with authority on the other side of the fire. She casts glances at us periodically, her eyes shining with a sick desire that forces me to cringe. She's wearing the bare minimum clothing, highly ineffective in a combat situation, made of metal with spikes, probably nails, protruding from every inch of what little she has on.

Two of the others look almost identical, dirty and bloody with matching rags. I get the feeling that they aren't really raiders; rather two smart men who know how to stay alive. Join the crowd or get trampled, I believe my dad used to say. If it works, don't knock it.

But the last of the five is the most intriguing. He isn't near as dirty as the others. He stands tall, holding his head high with…dignity? His outfit is much more practical than the others' and made of entirely different material to boot. No rags or rusting metal for him; he's decked out in what appears to be a full set of Vault Security Armor, minus the visor on his helmet. A baton at his side and a pistol in his hand, he doesn't belong with them at all.

He looks at us periodically, though his eyes reveal nothing of his intentions. At least with the woman, I know she wants to do us harm; he's a mystery, and that scares me. He could be anyone, work for anyone. But I…

Feel safe? How? Why? When my eyes meet his, I feel safe?

As he turns back to face the raging flames, the woman begins her march toward us. Edson tenses up, drawing his legs closer to him. I feel a fire in my gut start to burn, the rage from days ago reemerging in me. Something about this woman pisses me off, and I've barely heard her speak! She's said nothing to me directly, done nothing I can remember, and I have this unreasonable anger swelling inside.

She rips the tape (it _was_ tape after all) from my mouth and it takes everything in my power not to spit vehemently in her face. I contain myself long enough for her to titter, "Aren't you just the cutest piece of jerky I've met all month? Shame I've got a quota to fill, or I'd just as soon mount you on the wall." With a devious smile, she groans, "But I'll tell you what: since I like the way you look with that blood dripping down your chin, I'll kill the old man first!" Her hand flies from her hip headed straight for Edson's throat.

I use my anger to fuel my launch forward, the ropes tearing into my wrists with bloody spurts as my head lands hard against her own. She falls back instantly on her ass, the small knife that was just about to execute Edson flying across the ruined building with wasted momentum. As my head throbs and my ears ring, I spit the still-pooling blood onto the woman's boot.

"Don't you fuckin' touch him, bitch!" I snarl. The fire is in full blaze now, the pain in my wrists fading entirely. All I can feel is my head throbbing, blood running. If my hands were free, she'd be dead. I can feel it: my hands are twitching as if I were actually holding a knife in them. This isn't right, but I need it.

The two raiders in rags waste no time drawing pistols as they see their leader fall. By the time I've spit, their guns are ready to kill us both. My outburst ends and I struggle to break free from the ropes; the metal pole I'm tied to vibrates weakly as I strain against it.

The slightly taller of the two snaps, "Stop struggling, dick! We'll kill you both!"

"Go ahead!" I snap back, the fire inside burning my chest. I need to release it. I have to release it. The pole breaks near the base and I fly forward on top of the stunned woman. Before I realize it, my head is smashing against hers. Once. Twice. Three times.

A red warmth fills my eyes and I close them tight in fear. I roll off of the woman and hopefully away from the fire pit. Two gunshots ring out and I shudder to think that Edson might be dead. I push my face into what feels like grass in the hopes of removing the blood from my face, the soft cool blades contrasting impressively with my warm pulsing flesh. I crack my eyes open just in time to see the fifth raider looming over the woman.

With a slight shake of his head, he releases a bullet into hers and it explodes! The smallest of the raiders is standing weakly beside the fire pit, his hands trembling as he aims his pistol. I don't even know where he could have been keeping it, but I know that the fire in my gut won't be quelled until he's dead. He's a threat! The suited man just killed a raider, and I have no quarrel with him, but this small monster has to die!

I shove myself from the ground, my heart pounding. With some difficulty, I make it to my feet. The raider turns his gun on me, still trembling, hardly able to touch the trigger in his unsteady nerve. If I could see his eyes, I could bask in his fear. I charge forward carelessly, unafraid of a bullet from either party.

Just as I reach the trembling figure, he drops his gun and screams in absolute terror. The scream rips me from my rage, a fear so deep it couldn't possibly come from an evil individual anchoring me to the facts. He's tiny compared to all of his companions. They've hidden his face. Instead of watching us, they had him doing the menial labor. His voice was kind of scratchy.

Just as I'm about to tackle this raider to the ground, my legs lock up. I fall to the ground in some weak attempt at self-control. He does the same out of fear. I stare into the eye slits of his mask, hoping to see some kind of humanity on the other side. The slight shimmer of a tear meets me from somewhere within. Maybe his eye, maybe his cheek. He could've been crying the entire time for all I know. I take a few deep breaths, settling myself. This raider can't possibly be a raider.

Another gunshot rings out and, as I flinch, the raider falls limp to the ground. Blood spurts from his chest. A black boot enters my view as a calm voice rings out.

"If you're going to murder someone, don't have a change of heart half way through. That's how the raiders around these parts win." He lifts me from the ground by the back of my armor and frowns at me. "To be honest, I was waiting for some excuse to kill these bastards. Disgraces, all of 'em."

I try to find the words to express my confusion. All that comes out is a simple, fatigued grunt.

"Of course, I wasn't about to let them kill you. Not yet, anyway." With a rough knee to the stomach, I fall again to the ground. He grasps a handful of hair and pulls me up halfway. "That gun in your bag—where'd you get it?" I can hear a venom in his voice. A hiss, almost.

Gun? What gun? My laser pistol Officer Michael gave me? The railway rifle I took from Spike? The 10mm I looted from Michael's body? No, surely he doesn't mean those. Those could come from anywhere. I could've made those from scratch! So what does he mean?

I try to think. What gun do I have that he might be interested in?

And then another memory comes flooding back to me. After leaving the hotel, before we made it to the gate out of White Bluff, we were stopped by Old Man Miller! He's the reason we followed Highway 365 the long way around, instead of taking Interstate 530! He warned us about raiders and explosive cars on the interstate! And…he gave me a bag of ammo. Big bullets, I remember, because they were really heavy. But…

A gun! He gave me Lights Out! He said we might need it if we come across trouble! Lights Out must be the gun the raider wants to know about! Redfield's gun, the gun that killed Junior Knight Hayes…a sad gun.

"Where'd you get it?!" he repeats, shaking me violently. I can hear my neck pop as I try to form the words.

I manage to stammer, blood still running from somewhere in my mouth, "Redfield. Raiders." As the words escape me, he releases my hair and my face lands dangerously close to some makeshift fire poker. I can't tell if he's upset or happy, but the smile that stretches across his face is ominous.

I hear Mr. Edson begin another coughing fit, the excitement and multiple near-death experiences of the past few hours probably threatening to shut him down entirely. I'm sure his asthma would be having a field day if his adrenaline weren't pumping.

The raider lifts me to my feet, much more gently than last time, and dusts off the front of my armor. His smile fades into a simple expression, "You don't say." He draws a knife from a pouch at his side and spins me around. The burning in my wrists soothes slightly as the rough ropes fall to the ground in a wet heap. "You killed the legendary Redfield? Impressive, kid."

I stare down at my wrists, bloody and torn from my struggle. It's a wonder I can even control my hands with what damage must have been done to my muscles. As I turn my attention to the not-raider, a large black bag pounds against my stomach. I cough wetly as I take the bag, the familiar weight soothing my troubled brain. My hands move on their own as I drop it and rummage around inside. A canteen glistens as I pull it from its pouch, the contents sloshing around temptingly.

The liquid hits my throat and washes the iron taste from my mouth, just as cool as the air around us. My next target is a stimpak, which sits in its pouch on my belt inside the bag. As I jab the syringe into my arm, relief washes over me instantly. The burning in my wrists gives way to pulsing; the throbbing in my head fades to a slight beat; and I can feel the blood in my mouth start to pool slower. With one last spit, my mouth is blood-free.

By the time I've recovered enough to actually speak, the not-raider has freed Edson and given him his things. His highest priority meets his lips with desperation, the gust of medicated air filling his lungs. I have to wonder what happens to him once his inhaler runs out…

"My name's Scott. Scott Tanner. And you are?" The not-raider approaches with an outstretched hand, his smile less threatening than before.

I take his hand and shake, sighing, "Johnathan Neal, and that's Dwight Edson."

He scans us up and down, cocking an eyebrow with a knowing smirk. "So what brings you to Sweet Home?" He grins arrogantly as I look at him in confusion. Is he…trying to be funny? "You don't look like the kind of rabble that would be in this area. Mostly raiders and animals."

"We're headed for Rockville," I grunt, taking another swig of water.

His eyes light up at the name. Releasing my hand, he laughs, "Really? So was he!" With a wave of his hand, the smallest raider is brought back to my attention. A knot forms in my gut as I grab hold of my previous train of thought.

Small. Doing labor. Hidden face. Small.

I have to know. I can't go on not knowing. I walk slowly over to the corpse's side, my hand reaching cautiously for the mask. Why would the raiders care enough to try and keep his identity a secret? What makes this raider special?

"I wouldn't do that if I were you, man. There are some questions better left unanswered." I can feel the concern in Scott's voice. Of course he knows the answer; he travelled with them for however long. He has to know what makes this raider special. "It won't be pleasant."

"I have to know," I mutter in reply, my hand taking hold of the top of the mask. With one swift motion, the disguise is gone and a young face meets my eyes. Thin cheeks, teary eyes, and a smoothness that only comes with innocent youth adorn this raider. The realization washes over me. "A child…"

Edson steps up beside me and his hand meets his mouth, an audible gasp accompanying his shock. Scott sighs, "I told you, didn't I? It wouldn't be pleasant. That's how the raiders around here win." I hear the click of a lighter and a plume of smoke fills my face. "No one wants to kill a kid, not even a raider kid."

"But you did…" I groan, somewhere on the border between blame and gratefulness. I would've killed a kid if he hadn't. Yeah, the rage went away, but it would've been a matter of time.

With a sad grunt, Edson lands beside me, holding his legs close to his body with one arm, the other muffling his sobs. He's old, set in his ideals, the Vault's ideals. This has to be so much harder for him. And besides, this is his first encounter with raiders…

Our newest acquaintance takes another puff of his cigarette before chuckling, "You can't stop a raider just because you have a kid in your group. I would've let them kill you if you didn't have my brother's gun." The thought takes a second to register in my head. His brother's gun? "As far as I'm concerned, that makes you my boss."

"Boss? Brother?" The thoughts come pouring out, confusion and anger taking root in my tone. "Are you related to that piece of shit Redfield?!" I'm on my feet before I even realize it, my pistol ready. I think back to how I killed the raider trash, his limbs and then his head.

He smirks, taking another puff. "Yep, he's my older brother. Can't you tell?" He removes his helmet, revealing a familiar orange shimmer. Greasy red hair, almost the same texture as the raider bastard from days ago. "I didn't want to be a part of the family, so I left. 'Course, once a raider, always a raider. That blood lust doesn't go away." His helmet is back on before he finishes talking, the outstanding red subdued by the black metal.

The odds are incalculable. That I would meet the brother of the leader of a band of raiders that I was forced to fight thanks to the Brotherhood, after leaving the Brotherhood, is just…so hard to comprehend. And that Old Man Miller would give me a gun that he cares so much about, just coincidentally in time to make that raider's brother not kill me…

Could…Could Elder Wallace have been right? About destiny? Fate? Are the wastes trying to tell me something?

I shake the ignorance from my head and snap, "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't kill you here and now!" I place my finger on the trigger, sights aimed for his skull.

He flicks his cigarette into the fire pit and laughs, "Because you want answers, kid. Who am I? Who was Redfield? Why did I just incur the wrath of every raider from Fayetteville to New Orleans, all to save your sorry ass? Those are the questions only I can answer." He draws his pistol with lightning speed, aimed at me before I can even register his movement. "Besides, I'm an amazing murderer. You might find some use for me."

I lower my pistol, knowing that even if it came to gun slinging, his gun would win. It's huge, about twice the size of my pistol, with a brighter shine. The bullet he fired from it earlier made the woman's head explode entirely, after all.

"Are you offering to come with us? To Rockville?"

"Yeah, that sounds about right. Assuming the old man will have me along."

We turn to face the still-shaken Edson. He's lowered his hand and relaxed a little bit, but I can see in his face that the kid's death is eating at him. He finally blinks a few times in succession and stands up.

He crosses his arms as if to hold himself together; I know the feeling. "Do you trust him, Johnny?" he asks quietly. I nod, not entirely certain. He hasn't killed us yet, at least. "Then I'll trust him too."

I relay the message, "Sounds like it's settled then. But so help me God, if you make one wrong move, I'll blow your brains out!" My words are met with a happy grin.

"Wouldn't have it any other way, Boss!"

_Footnote: Level Up!  
>Perk Added: Ferocious Loyalty<br>Effect: You can't explain it. Even if you've barely just met, your companions are willing to give it all to help you out. When you become injured during combat, your companions really step up their game!_


	12. Chapter 10

**Prophet, Shepherd, Savior?**

I curse under my breath as we cross a massive empty parking lot. It's been barely an hour since we left the small town of Sweet Home, and already Rockville is in sight. It sits right on the bank of a massive river, which sounds like its flowing violently as we approach it. Even before the empty parking lot we could see the giant neon sign flashing its welcoming words to the world. If I hadn't insisted we take cover at that post office, surely Edson and I could have evaded the raiders long enough to make it here.

Scott took point the entire trek, ushering us into the tree line or some side roads periodically to avoid other raider camps. I guess when you travel with one group, you learn about the others. When the sign came into view, he suddenly lost all sense of caution, exclaiming our safety.

"Snipers," he'd said, "are posted on all of the buildings in the area. Each one is connected through the sewage system back to Rockville. If a hostile enters within two miles of the radio station, they die. No exceptions."

Sure enough, as we approached, a raider attempted to stalk us. And he died. Instantly.

We walk on, our spirits high, the end of our journey in sight. The sign buzzes with comforting words, electricity pouring through the power lines. As we reach a road sign denoting Cottondale Lane, I can see the river flowing to the southeast. On the far side, tall buildings stretch upward, their tops broken or otherwise missing, centuries of wear and tear crumbling them to shadows of their former selves. But the radio station stands almost pristine, a large tower stretching over its protective gate that looks brand new. A golden bell shines beautifully in the sunlight that flows over the top of the tower.

The water in the river looks bright blue, pure and tasty. Suddenly the water from White Bluff sits sour in my stomach. Not dirty, perhaps, but certainly not this pure.

A voice calls out from nowhere—or maybe everywhere—with a high screech in the background. I almost recognize the voice. "Welcome to Rockville, children. So long as you bear no ill will, you are welcome in our sanctuary." Ahead of us up the road a bright green light bursts to life on a large metal gate. As it rises from the ground, several armed guards rush to meet us, weapons locked on us. We continue on toward them.

The guard at the front speaks, and despite the gun in his hand his voice isn't threatening. "Although I'm sure you went through a lot to get here, I'm going to have to confiscate your weapons." His companions stand steady and focused, ready to blow us away should the need arise. He adds, "You'll get them back once Father Gabriel clears you."

I can't help but feel that this is how it's supposed to be. A kind, caring community couldn't hope to keep its people safe without checking newcomers and confiscating weapons. As much as I hate the idea of being unarmed, I know that they have the right idea. I pull my bag off of my shoulder as I approach the head guard, putting my pistol in it slowly and visibly. By the time I'm within his reach, I'm holding my bag away from me in cooperation. Edson is quick to follow my lead, packing everything away aside from his inhaler.

Scott, noticeably a bit less trusting of the guards, attempts to strike a deal. "You can have everything except my magnum. The dynamite, grenades, and Jet are all yours." He holsters his magnum and hands away his bag. The guard glances at the silver weapon before nodding in acceptance.

One of the other guards advances to take our bags, while the other two head back into the gate. The head guard holsters his weapon and chuckles, "It's been a while since we've had new arrivals. The raiders are getting a bit braver down south." He takes point as we enter the warm green light, offering words of explanation. "I'm Captain Peter, head of defense here at Rockville. And you must be Johnathan Neal and company."

I stop, my muscles locking me in place. My heart skips a few beats as I interpret what he's just said. Scott's next to catch it, turning back to check on me. Peter notices the lack of response and turns with a warm smile. Edson doesn't even realize anything is wrong as he keeps on walking.

"How'd you know my name?" I ask, calm and collected. I don't feel threatened or frightened, but I'm certainly not okay with this turn of events.

He cocks an eyebrow in confusion for a moment before slapping a hand to his forehead. "Oh dear, you'll have to forgive me! I'm not used to welcoming newcomers to Rockville. I just assumed you would know about Purity's powers." He walks briskly back to my side and places a hand between my shoulders, ushering me forward. "You know Purity, the woman on the radio broadcast, right? She tells us when others are approaching our sanctuary, prepares us for their arrival. She's the one who decides who the snipers shoot."

I try to process the thought. How could Purity—whoever she is—know my name? Does she have connections at White Bluff? Even in light of the new information, I don't feel threatened. Just…disturbed.

"That's why you get to keep your dad's gun," Peter nods at Scott's magnum and is met with a sour scowl. "Purity told us all about you three, how you aren't stupid enough to threaten us."

He ushers me farther through the gate, my silence all the answer he seems to need. Scott's footsteps pick up once we're a decent distance ahead. "I get that she knows about me. Hell, I'd be surprised if she didn't know my brother. But how'd she know about my dad?" His voice bounces around the metal tunnel we've found ourselves in, genuine curiosity flooding his tone.

I can't really blame him.

Captain Peter removes his hand from my back and turns to face Scott. "Our Purity can do so much more than you could comprehend, Scott Tanner. She's guided us to this sanctuary for decades, and she's protected us from those who would harm us." He scratches his cheek for a second and sighs, "She's a Prophet of God, after all." As if what he just said were normal, he turns on a dime and continues his march forward. As my companion passes by me, we walk cautiously side by side. There's a feeling in my chest growing, not one of rage, but of fear.

We let Peter get several yards ahead of us before Scott whispers his thoughts on the subject. "Bullshit. Plain and simple bullshit. They really believe their 'God' has kept them safe all these years?" His hand rests gently on his gun, ready to draw should things take a turn.

"I," I breathe, "don't know. Maybe He has?" The look I earn sends a shiver up my spine. But still I feel that maybe there's some truth in Peter's claim. After all, I met Scott under the few specific circumstances that would convince him not to kill me. How miraculous is that? "There was another guy who tried to convince me I survived this long because it was my destiny."

"And? Did you believe him?"

"Of course not! But this feels…different somehow."

"It's not. Destiny is bullshit. God is bullshit. Prophets are bullshit."

"How can you be so sure?"

He stops, catching my arm as I continue on. With gritted teeth he hisses, "Because look at this world, the people, the places. Think long and hard about the raiders you've met—Redfield especially—and tell me you think a God of love and salvation would let those people exist." He lets go, falling silent. I see a hatred stir up in his eyes; his jaw clenches.

He's seen things. I get that. I have too. But I'm still not sure that's a good enough argument. I decide to keep silent as we head farther into the tunnel, the metal slowly transitioning into wood, the dirt replaced with concrete. We finally reach another gate, half as large as the first, with a warm blue light beaming over it. Edson stirs up conversation with the rest of the guards and, as soon as we catch up, Peter orders the gate to open.

The sight beyond is breathtaking.

Small buildings, in full contrast with comparison to the ones on the other side of the river, dot the large lot, surrounded at every angle by a solid metal wall. The metal sheets are held together by cement, uniform and sturdy from an engineering standpoint. At the very back of the pristine settlement sits the tower with its golden bell, shimmering in the now-setting sunlight. The building it's attached to stands tall and authoritative, a large satellite dish pivoting slowly from east to west. You can tell it has been the main attraction of the area for the longest time.

In large red plaster letters words adorn the building between the door and the steeple. "Welcome to Rockville, Sanctuary for the Damned."

As the gate stops its upward movement and the full effect of the view settles in, my jaw drops. I blink several silent times, any feelings of discontent I had felt moments before washing away in the idea of a safe settlement. This place makes White Bluff look like a scrap yard—which, to be fair, isn't far from correct.

Captain Peter chuckles, patting me on the back, "Welcome to Rockville, Johnathan! It's our little slice of heaven in the wasteland." His eyes scan the buildings, stopping on the radio station with what I swear is a twinkle. His body noticeably relaxes, his posture changing instantly to one of comfort. His voice loses its authoritative tone as he speaks. "There are no officers inside these walls. There are no rich men or poor men, no homeless or starving children. Inside these walls, we are all equal, and we all do what we can to earn our keep. Inside these walls, we are God's flock, and Purity is our Shepherd."

There it is again. God. Purity. And now we're sheep?

But the thought of sanctuary takes precedence over my disbelief, and I nod in empty confirmation of his claims. He smiles a knowing, condescending smile and takes me by the wrist. As the tender flesh stings, my first instinct is to flinch away, to curse him and his lack of tact, but he points toward the radio station and my body floods with the weirdest curiosity I've felt since leaving the Vault. Thoughts of Purity and the man at the station drive me forward with him.

I pass by Scott, who stands unamused with a concerned expression. His footsteps slowly begin to follow us, Edson doing the same with much more enthusiasm.

As we approach the doors to the station, an intense anxiety fills my chest. I don't know what to expect, and I don't know why I even care, but I can't help but hope for something comforting or supportive of my course of action. I feel guilt swell in me, the thought of my family in the hands of the Enclave imposters surfacing. An image flashes in my head of Brotherhood members laying lifeless on the ground. Blood splatters and laser fire are everywhere. It's only for an instant, but I'm certain it's what I see.

It fades just as quickly, and I'm standing inside the building. I'm met with a chapel, just like the one we had in Vault 95, with pews aligned neatly from the front to the back and a large altar on the far side. A tall man in a dark suit stands at the altar as a seemingly random assortment of wastelanders sit silently—attentively—in the room. A large stairwell sits on either side of the congregation and the building is decorated in paintings of Jesus and his disciples. I recognize most of them from our history books.

Mr. Edson whispers with disbelief, "That one's from Vault 95…" His hand shoots in the direction of the closest painting on the right. And I can't disagree with his claims. The one in question, a replica of Leonardo da Vinci's _Last Supper_, hangs innocently on the wall. The frame is engraved with small golden 95's to denote that it was ours.

And this church has taken it for its own.

And I don't even really care.

The man at the altar speaks with diction, his voice deep. As light pours in through the stained glass of the entry windows, his body lights up in a dazzling array of colors. He steps from behind the altar and continues his sermon. His dark skin adds an odd flare to the words he speaks, the multi-colored lights dancing on him as the sun continues to set.

"For by grace are ye saved through faith; and that not of yourselves: it is the gift of God: Not of works, lest any man should boast. For we are his workmanship, created in Christ Jesus unto good works, which God hath before ordained that we should walk in them. Ephesians 2:8-10." Bible passages, just like Purity. Why would he preach to his people if someone else is already doing that? Couldn't the messages become fuddled? "We are born to serve our Lord, to do good deeds by His children and to help those who require it. To pass by a brother and ignore his plight for the sake of convenience, for safety and self-preservation, is a wrong by the eyes of our God, and must be washed from your heart in His glory!"

No. No way.

Is he preaching about helping others? About being selfless? And those images from before, on the way here… There's no way it can just be coincidence! It just can't! There's more going on than I can begin to understand, and it makes me sick! Are they playing some kind of trick on me? Am I the butt of some cosmic prank? I glance at Scott as if he might hold the answers, and he returns my look with one of annoyance.

"In our community this very evening is a man who turned on his kin for the sake of finding peace in this wretched, sinful wasteland! He had every power to fight for his brothers and sisters in Christ, and yet he turned them away, rebuked their values just as St. Peter did to Jesus in those final days! This man has nerve to claim brotherhood with us!"

My heart begins to pound. My muscles suddenly lock up. Can he be talking about me? Is he making me the bad guy in the situation? No, certainly not. We've never even met! But the people in the pews begin whispering, gossiping, questioning the claims. They turn back and forth, scanning their fellow followers.

"That's right," he roars, stomping down the aisle to the center of the church, "our very own Brother Robinson left his kin to die at the hands of the raiders, not even three miles from the very bed he attempts to sleep in! But his sins weigh heavy on his heart, and he has found no peace in reaching our sanctuary. And do you understand why?"

The subject of the claim is obviously not present, as the rest of the congregation turn back to the altar. I let out a sigh of relief, though my heart still pounds as the service continues. They shake their heads collectively, perhaps in understanding or in confusion. One elderly woman stands to her feet, her hand lifted high. She holds a small silver cross in her left hand.

"Sister Christina?" the preacher questions, his eyes shining bright.

The woman calls out, her voice strained and small, "His betrayal must be punished, and God is bestowing the consequences on him. To leave those in need to suffer is a sin that can only be repaid by suffering." She sits down, a tear glistening in the colored light. With my attention drawn to her eyes, I notice her irises are faded, dysfunctional. Blind?

The preacher shakes his head with a frown, stepping closer to her. His voice quavers as he shouts, "Amen, Sister! Who else but she could tell us something oh so true? To be struck blind because of blindness to the suffering of your fellow brothers and sisters is apt punishment! To ignore the cries of the dying children is enough to fall mute! To run while others are crippled is cause for crippling!" His words echo around the chapel, the stone walls almost vibrating in their loudness. "Thus is the justice of our Lord God. Blood for blood, sin for sin."

He falls silent, returning to the altar. He flips through a thick book—most likely a Bible—until landing on some specific passage.

"Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works, and glorify your Father which is in heaven. Matthew 5:16." He smiles at the crowd of silent wastelanders, the light washing over them. "Just as the sun blesses us with its warmth, bless others with your own. Only then will they see the beauty that comes with the blessing of our Lord God. Show them your light, and they too will come to find their own. Remember this, my children, and go forth into the world. Do not be content to survive—you must show others the way to God. Dismissed."

The wastelanders whisper a collective "amen" that swallows the sounds of them getting up from their seats. A young woman takes Christina by the arm and guides her from the chapel. Other, more able-bodied followers, wait until they've passed. Even as the crowd thins out, the preacher remains unmoved behind his altar. He stares down at his Bible, hardly taking notice of us who haven't attempted to leave.

Once the chapel is empty, Captain Peter, still leading me by my wrist, hurries us to the altar. Edson is close at our heels, though Scott refuses to move any farther from the door. I can't blame him, I guess, with his disdain of the concept of a loving God. I can't say I entirely agree with the idea, but there has to be more to this preacher than meets the eye. He may not have been talking about me, but I certainly felt his words hit me hard.

I…start to regret not agreeing to help the Brotherhood.

Before Peter can say anything, the preacher looks up from his scripture and chuckles, "You must be Johnathan Neal and Dwight Edson, survivors of Vault 95 and companions of the brother of Redfield. You've come for sanctuary, yet you aren't certain whether to trust us. It's too good to be true; that's what you're thinking." With a large, confident grin, he finishes, "I am Father Gabriel, the Mouth of God for our community. And this is my church, a simple radio station from before the war." He reaches a hand out and I shake it firmly.

Even without understanding his knowledge of us, I can't feel threatened by him. He's a simple man, it seems, with simple ideals. He does what he believes is needed, and sticks by those convictions. That's the vibe I get from shaking his hand, anyway.

Captain Peter releases my other wrist and turns to walk out. As he strolls down the aisle with a relaxed demeanor, Father Gabriel asks, "Brother Peter, would you mind stopping by Brother Robinson's and asking him to come to my office later?" The preacher's face shows no sign of discontent or urgency, though the officer's demeanor shifts a few moods darker.

"Of course not, Father. I'll pass the message along." With a slight bow Peter continues through the doors and into the orange-tinted Rockville.

As the door closes behind him, Mr. Edson jumps to life with a single excited question, "Can we really stay here, Father?" His eyes shine with a hope I haven't seen from any other wastelander.

The preacher smiles warmly and chuckles, "Of course, _Brother_ Edson. So long as you abide by our laws and the laws of God, you may stay in our flock for so long as it suits you." There's a sweetness in Edson's new title, some sort of coercive tune underlying the word. I doubt he caught it, but I certainly did. "As for you, child, our blessed Prophet has been wishing to speak with you for quite some time."

The Prophet? Purity? Why would she want to speak to me? Even as the thoughts swim around in my throat, my voice rips from me. "I'd be honored, Father," I stutter, my body acting almost on its own, bowing before the 'holy' man. I can't stop it, and I certainly don't hate it, but this isn't me! I wouldn't _bow_ to a priest; hell, I never bowed to my dance partners at school activities!

School…

The word is sour in my head—it stings with the flames of wrecked memories.

Another image flashes in my head of the classroom level of the Vault. I see blood and bodies everywhere, children no older than ten or twelve laying limp over their desks. As the image fades, my body acts in accordance with Father Gabriel. He turns toward a stairwell and begins to approach it; my body follows. Something is…wrong.

I can't explain it; I can't stop it; I can't speak out against it. I just…go with him. I can't turn myself away from the stairwell even as I hear Scott's grunt and a loud thud against the stone ground. As we ascend the stairs the temperature begins to drop, the atmosphere taking on a visibly blue tint. The mysterious veil contrasts so drastically with the light from the stained glass windows that my head begins to swim; such a sudden shift is jarring, to say the least.

Once we reach the final flight of steps, Father Gabriel ushers me ahead of him. He stands erect, hands clasped together in a prayer-like symbol. There's excitement—or maybe it's pride?—in his voice as he speaks, "Our precious Prophet has asked to speak with you face to face. It is an honor than only the most holy of God's children are blessed with. You must ascend on your own accord." He stands motionless, a twinkle in his eye and a grin on his face.

Whatever had possessed me to follow him melts away as the chill in the air creeps up my skin. The crawling of skin that accompanies the appearance of goose bumps helps me focus on the situation I'm in. The door at the top of the stairs looms intimidatingly, a solid metal engraved with holy symbols. A cross, a lamb, a fish, and several other assorted marks relating to biblical passages line the outer inches of the frame. The knob is molded into the shape of an apple with a bite taken out of it.

The way Gabriel stands tells me I have no choice but to head up. If I had a weapon, perhaps the last few minutes would have played out differently, but as it stands I'm trapped playing whatever game this seems to be. So I begin taking the final flight, one step after another, slowly and cautiously. As I approach the door, the temperature continues to drop. I can't even begin to imagine what might be waiting on the other side.

What kind of person is Purity? How can she know so much about all of us, and how did she relay that information to her companions? But the greatest question of all: Why do I even care? No matter what I see beyond the door, I can't change it. I can't stop the last hour from happening. I can't turn back. I don't need Gabriel standing in the way to remind me of that…

My hand meets the doorknob, and I'm hit with an intense stinging sensation in my right eye. I try to flinch away, to pull my hand back, but all I can manage is covering the pain with the hand that isn't occupied. In my blind pain a vivid image bursts to life, almost as if I were watching it in person.

A massive green monster is prying its way out of a metal box, a hammer fashioned from fire hydrants and cement blocks grasped firmly in one hand and a slightly-smaller green monster in the other.

The image fades and the pain subsides, my heart racing with a painful pounding. My sight returns to normal and my hand continues to grip the knob. I take a single deep breath, fear coursing through me—a truer fear than anything I've ever felt—and pushing me ahead. As the door begins to swing, a gust of chilled air blasts me back a step. I hear a faint beeping as I recover, the scent of isopropyl alcohol burning my nose.

Light flickers from within.

I hesitate for a second, long enough to take another breath and to gather my nerves. I can't even begin to understand where the intense fear is coming from, but I know that something is just all around bad about the room I'm being forced to walk into.

A voice tears through the anxious silence, though it's untraceable in origin. It doesn't come from Gabriel or the room I've just unsealed. It just…comes. "You've no cause for fear, child. In my presence, all is well. Enter the room before you with conviction, the very conviction that helped you on your path. Do not doubt your choices; do not question your road. Come unto me, child, and hear your truth." It swims through my head, a feminine voice, much older than the one on the radio and yet it carries the very same tone. The words seem to push my fear from within me, and as I release my most recent breath my nerves settle. My body relaxes as I push myself through the doorway.

I stare at a small figure opposite of the door, strapped to a long upturned table and smothered from top to bottom with wires of assorted sizes and colors. Each one digs into the flesh of the figure's arms or legs, a single wire slithering its way to the skull. Behind the table whirrs a large machine, beeping and blinking with color and energy. Just above the machine is a large window, thin rays of orange light managing to find their way inside as the sun crosses the horizon.

It's the figure on the table that catches me in the end. It stands short, thin and frail, with sagging flesh and colorless eyes. Just beneath the scent of sterility is the stench of rot. Even in its deathly image, the figure manages to move about in its restraints. Though the body is covered from throat to feet with a simple cloth, the lump that accompanies feminine maturity is defined by the restraints.

Its eyes roll back and forth, faded irises barely visible against the wide whites. It opens its mouth with a sickening wheeze before whispering through the chilled air, "Welcome, child. You've come, just as I had told Gabriel you would." The voice is old, strained, but the words flow without pause. After another breath, it continues, "I'm sad to admit that our meeting may have come too late…"

Of all the questions that zip into my head, only one really matters to me at this very moment. My voice trembles as I form the words, "Are…Are you okay?" A question that I wholeheartedly believe anyone in my position would ask. I can't say it's out of concern, but it feels like the right thing to say.

The figure laughs—as much as it can laugh in its state—and attempts to answer me with shallow breaths. "I have never been better, child. But I have had many years to contemplate just what it means to be okay." It reaches out a pathetic hand, the wires threatening to snap it to pieces. I take several slow steps forward, feeling almost obligated to take the bony limb in my own. "I can see the doubt within you, child. The words you've spoken to the Elder, to Scott, ring with disbelief. You deny the concept of destiny."

My hand meets her and a dozen images ignite in my mind. Soldiers and children and fire and guns.

"That you can stand here today and exchange words with me is evidence enough of His grace, don't you think?"

"It wasn't God that brought me here!" I grunt, the images stinging inside my skull. I feel an intense nausea wash over me as I stand before her. "I…survived…because of luck!" Can you really call it surviving, though?

"You've been walking your road since long before the Imposters attacked your Vault. You were set on the path that led you here the moment you were born, and it was simply a matter of time before you would arrive." The voice grows stronger as it speaks, the grip on my hand filling with youthful flesh. The stench of rot leaves the air entirely as a snapping sound echoes about the room. A newfound fear swallows the images in my head. Suddenly I'm standing before a young woman, tall and strong, with shining eyes.

With a new voice to match, she snaps, "You were always going to meet me, child, whether you wanted to or not. I've seen visions of you, of your future, of what you will do to help or harm us. You walk a road that was lain for you from the day of your birth, though the steps you take to continue down it are your own." She takes a step forward, forcing me closer to the door. "I am Purity, Prophet of the Lord, and you are Johnathan Neal, Savior of the Wastes. I have seen that title many times in my dreams, as will you in the days to come."

Fear and confusion fade as my back hits the wall. Her grip is strong, but she isn't threatening me. She's intimidating me—to what end I'm not certain, but she seems to believe her words.

I snap, withdrawing my hand, "I'm no savior, no matter what you say! I'm no servant of God and I sure as hell don't believe the ramblings of a monster like you!" I can't tell if it's anger or annoyance that fills my chest, but I want nothing more than to expose this strange woman for the bat-shit crazy creature she is. "You say you're a prophet: prove it!"

My words must strike a chord with her, because she retreats to the other side of the room. A wicked smile corrupts her features as she sighs, "The rage in your heart will be your death; you will become what you despise most in this dead world, and you cannot stop it. You can only fight it so long as there are those who would protect you, and even they shall fall to your desire for blood." My head starts to swim, the lights around me fading. I open my mouth to speak, but find my voice missing. She lifts her head toward the sky and cries out, "And so the Lord hath spoken!"

My vision is swallowed by darkness and my legs give out from under me. I hear heavy footsteps and the beeping of the machine…


	13. Chapter 11

**Premonition?**

My eyes open slowly, calmly, as my senses start to return. A warm weight sits on top of me, my back pressed into something soft and—

A bed? I'm in a bed?

I shoot upright, an amazing block of missing memories swimming through my head. I remember entering the radio station and listening to Father Gabriel's sermon, but how did I get here? I can't remember anything between now and then, though I distinctly remember hearing a thud against the floor of the chapel. But then…

"Settle down kid; you'll hurt yourself." My head turns toward the voice and I let out a sigh of relief as Scott sits on a bed across the room from me. He runs his hands over his magnum before placing it into a large black bag. "They brought our things here ahead of us," he scoffs unamused.

I throw my blanket off and jump to my feet, the cold wood meeting my apparently bare feet. As the chill shoots through me, I fall back to the mattress and try to gain some sort of bearing on the situation. Staring down at my exposed limbs, I groan, "I'm…clean?" The dirt and blood and grime's all been washed away, something that I'm both happy for and creeped out by.

He pulls a small red inhaler-like object from his bag and scans it. Putting it aside and drawing another identical one, he chuckles, "I guess Father Shit-for-Brains had some of his slaves bathe us after he knocked us out."

"Knocked us out? I don't remember that…"

"Well how else do you explain us ending up here? We obviously passed out, and I doubt it was just because our bodies wanted to." He continues checking on several more red inhalers before finally taking them all in hand and putting them back in their pocket. He must notice my curiosity and explains, "I told 'em they could have my Jet, so I had to make sure they didn't take me up on that offer."

Jet? "So they washed us, brought us here, and gave us our stuff back. Does that mean we're safe?" I ignore his comment about Father Gabriel entirely, not certain just how much my thoughts might affect me.

"Safe? Here? Don't make me laugh kid!" He continues to root through his things, taking some sort of mental inventory as his hands draw check marks in the air. Everything goes back exactly where it had been before he removed it. "You might wanna do the same. Their God forbid they take my brother's gun."

There's a venom in his voice as he says 'God,' and it irks me to hear him be so…childish about the whole concept. I scan the room until my eyes meet my bag, getting up just long enough to grab it and return. Even before I open it I can tell there's things missing, the weight significantly less than before.

As I pull my things from it, I take count of bullets and weapons and water bottles and other assorted junk I've collected. Pistol, Laser, Lights Out, Railway Rifle—all counted for. Four bottles of water, check. Stimpaks, check. Schematics, check. Dog jerky…

"If you're looking for the dog meat, you're gonna be sour. An old woman came by earlier and searched our stuff. She took the bottle and some giant piece of machinery. I believe her exact comment was, 'How by the grace of God has he survived after eating this filth? I'll be back in a minute with some real food for you poor children!'" He nods at the bedside table, a small bowl of…something…steaming in the lamplight.

"She took the Water Chip?!" I snap, indignation surfacing above rage. How dare she take my belonging without asking, especially something so valuable to the wastes? I open my mouth to express my outrage, until a thick satchel of jingling jagged objects hits my face.

Scott laughs, "That's a pretty hefty sum of caps she gave you. Hope you don't mind I helped myself to a share." The bag is heavy; heavier than the others I've looted. Hell, it's even heavier than the caps Old Man Miller gave me for my loot! So I imagine it has to be…at least… "Twelve hundred caps. For that hunk of junk."

Twelve hundred?! I mean, I knew it would be valuable, but that's a lot of caps! I figured the guns and ammo I sold to Old Man Miller would be worth more than a piece of machinery that can't even function on its own…

"I took two hundred; consider it my saving-your-ass-from-raiders fee."

"That's fine," I whisper, putting the caps away with the rest of them. I make sure that everything else is still in order; my ammo is mostly intact, but I figure they might have only taken the junk rounds that were surely mixed in with the good ones. I'd hate to be in a firefight and shoot a blank at the raider standing a foot in front of me. "And our armor?" The clothes on my back are light and almost as combat-inefficient as the metal armor Scott's companion had been wearing.

"They cleaned them up for us. And our other clothes. According to the old woman, these are on loan until the rest of our stuff dries out." He nods at the wall opposite our beds, where large hunks of clothing sit on hooks, sunlight beaming through the roof onto them. I begin to question the decision to put a sunroof in a small shack, but I soon decide that it's not worth the energy.

I start to put my things back into my bag, comfortable now knowing that nothing important is missing. My eyes continuously wander toward the stuff in the bowl, my hunger setting in. It's at this point I realize that, since leaving the Vault, all I've eaten is dog jerky sticks and InstaMash. As that thought settles in my brain, my stomach reacts, growling furiously. Maybe my concern for survival has distracted me, or maybe I just didn't care about my hunger, but it suddenly hits me like a ton of bricks.

As soon as the last item hits the bottom of my bag, I shovel the slop into my mouth with the seemingly tiny spoon I've been supplied. It's mostly tasteless, though whether by my speed or its creation I can't tell. All I know is that it sure as hell beats the bitter dryness of the jerky and the gritty saltiness of the InstaMash!

"She also told me that they start serving lunch in the cafeteria at noon each day. Dinner at six in the evening. Breakfast at six in the morning."

My ears perk up at that thought. Putting the bowl down for a moment, I try to take in that information. Actual food? Cooked food, in a cafeteria? Three times a day? Every day? I return to the slop in the bowl and think to myself that, even if all they serve is this for every meal, it's still better than anything I've seen in the wasteland so far.

A thought strikes me as I finish the last spoonful of slop. "Where's your bowl?"

He looks at me with an annoyed expression, his brow furrowed in frustration. He chuckles, "I'm allergic to oats." I guess he waits for it to click, because he starts to laugh as my eyes shoot back to the bowl.

I grunt, "That was oatmeal? But that was…"

"Weird texture, right?"

"Yeah…" And then another thought occurs to me. "How did you know you were allergic to oats? I mean, they can't grow that commonly around here."

"Always have been. Ever since I was a kid. They had to give me an antihistamine shot just to get me breathing again. 'You might be more allergic to oats than you are gunshots to the head, fella,' I believe were the doctor's exact words." A smile cracked across his face, his brow relaxing. "The old woman apologized at least a dozen times before bringing me some dry bread and Brahmin milk."

"Brahmin milk? What's a Brahmin?"

"You know cows, right?"

"Yeah…"

"Well after the war, cows mutated. They turned orange, grew a second head, and have four stomachs. But you know what the best part is?"

I sit silently, already confused by the thought of a mutated cow.

"Four testicles. Imagine the sex drive!" He laughs, the somber tone he's held since reaching the town finally melting away. While the joke isn't very funny, I can see why he'd think so.

"I hate to kill the mood," I begin hesitantly, "but I have to know. You really don't like this place—or its people—and it feels like it's because of their faith."

His smile fades into a grin as he sighs, "Yeah, don't much care for God or the mindless sheep that follow Him."

"Can I ask why?"

"You just did, didn't you?"

"You know what I mean Scott. You don't have to tell me, but I'm curious. Why do you hate the idea of God?"

He stands up suddenly, the pistol clip on his lap falling hard to the floor. He takes a few hard steps toward the far wall and turns to face me. "Here's the way I look at it, kid. If God exists, he's the reason I am where I am, and I hate him for it. If God doesn't exist, then the only people I have to blame for the way the world is are the _real_ asshats that _actually_ let the world fall to shit! And honestly, I'd rather be pissed off at some dead guys that can't do shit than some all-powerful magician in the sky that can smite me with a snap of his fingers." He returns to his bed and retrieves his clip.

I…can't argue with that reasoning, honestly. I chuckle sheepishly, "I didn't think you actually had that thought out…"

"I don't hate blindly, just like I don't follow blindly. Even if I believed God existed, I'd still hate the idea of worshiping him. It would mean that he had to let the people before us turn the world to shit." He pulls a small pistol from his bag and loads the clip, replacing it and drawing another weapon. I didn't realize he had so many guns.

"Okay, so you have a reason for not believing," I sigh, trying to think back to Gabriel's message. "But why are you so hateful of the people that do believe?"

Scott groans, putting the rest of his belongings away, "As much as I'd love to keep playing twenty questions, I'm gonna go eat lunch." He stops by the door and dresses his feet in some sort of leather wraps. Two pairs, one on either side of the door, wait for us.

The idea of an actual meal sends me from my bed and to the other pair.

I try to size up everything I've just learned about him. His lack of faith and his hatred for those who follow God seems simple enough. He hates blind hope and useless actions—prayer probably sitting at the top of his list. He distrusts these people, who seem to be too ready to help us feel at home. I can't say I blame him, but I'm not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. Not until I feel it's necessary to do so.

I only wish I could remember what happened after Gabriel's sermon. Did they really knock us out and take us here? Or did something else happen that I just can't remember? Surely there's something else in that void…

As Scott pushes open our little shack door, the sunlight bursts in full force, putting the sunroof to shame. A chilled air flows in, the temperature having dropped since before we reached the settlement. I follow him from the shack and hope he knows where he's going, random residents stopping to wish us a good morning or to strike up casual conversation. He plows through, ignoring their happy grins and shining eyes, and I follow close at his heels like some kind of sick dog.

Even in the Vault I never experienced so much general happiness. How could anywhere in this wasteland be so content?

We trek through the settlement, passing the radio station and a building with a sign above the door reading 'Library of the Lord' and several biblical verses scratched to its sides. There's an unusual gap between it and its neighboring building; smoke billows from a tunnel above the next one, the scent of food filling the air. Several residents hurry inside, dressed in clothes fit for pre-war high society. Church clothes, maybe.

Scott reaches the building and gets a tight grip on the door knob just as high shriek rips through the silent air. My stomach growls as if to pull me into the cafeteria, but Scott darts from the building with a look of absolute hatred on his face. Sounds call out as I follow him down the alleyway. The shriek is followed by a dozen muffled cries, the sound of wood creaking barely puncturing the noise. And then there's the unmistakable sound of a hammer on a nail. Again. Again. And again.

Each sound is punctuated by a sob.

For about a minute we hurry down this alley, winding its way between the radio station and the community wall and the cafeteria. We finally reach a plot of land dotted with tombstones and fresh graves. And just ahead of us, atop a small manmade hill, stand four black-robed figures hoisting a large wooden cross upright. A man hangs from the cross, blood gushing from his hands and ankles. A crown of vines tears into his forehead and the blood dresses his face. He's wearing a full outfit, similar to the ones the other residents had been wearing. In his mouth is a thick black rag, catching blood around his lips.

Scott stops dead in his tracks, knocking me to the ground as I take in the sight. We wait in shocked uncertainty, such a bizarre torture seeming so foreign to us. Even in the face of the raiders' enjoyment of mutilation, crucifixion just seems so…barbaric to me.

The figure closest to the cross holds up a thick book and calls out, "The Lord preserveth all them that love him: but all the wicked will he destroy! Psalm 145:20. You have denied your sins and turned away your repentance, yet you claim brotherhood with those of us who are devout! You are a liar, a traitor, and a false follower! For your sins, you must be punished, just as those who have come before you. Here you will waste, here you will rest. Though damnation be your destination, you have time to make amends with our Lord God! Suffer now, Robinson, and experience the pain you allowed your kin to suffer." The book falls to the ground with a dusty thud and a shining dagger slides out of the man's sleeve.

The dagger penetrates the crucified man's eyes one after the other, careful not to damage the brain. Blood comes gushing, and the man writhes despite the nails. One of the other figures wraps a black cloth around his head, both covering the damaged eyes and restraining him to the cross even further.

And I…simply…cry.

Tears run from my eyes, though I can't explain why. I'm not sad, and I'm not even that angry. I know I should be, but I'm not. Maybe this is just an empathetic response for Robinson's situation?

Robinson? That sounds familiar.

Brother Robinson! From Gabriel's sermon yesterday! The one who abandoned his kin to escape the raiders… Didn't Gabriel tell Peter to send him to the church? Is this…their way of dealing with those who don't repent? I shudder to think we might end up like him.

The man who had just held the dagger removes his hood, facing us without shame. His dark face is twisted into a smile, pride in his eyes as he approaches us. He removes his robe entirely, revealing the same black suit and white dress shirt. "You weren't meant to witness this, my children. Only those who've turned away repentance are subjected to this…" He then runs his eyes up and down Scott and adds, "Though perhaps this was a fated meeting. After all, you may find yourselves in Brother Robinson's shoes in the following days."

"I'd love to see you bastards try!" Scott growls, lunging forward with a fist.

"Scott!" I snap in useless frustration.

He lunges for Gabriel time and time again, each attempt almost wasted as the surprisingly nimble priest continues to step out of range. The other robed figures simply stand, watching the outburst unfold. When it finally seems that Scott's thrown his last punch, Gabriel wraps him in a tight hug. Or maybe it's a submission hold. But it doesn't look violent.

"Let go of me!" he grunts, trying to pry away from the overly calm man.

"You needn't be afraid, Scott. If we punished all the lost souls that lashed out against us, our community would consist of ten people." My eyes open wide as Scott falls limp in his arms, a single dazed grunt preceding a collapse to the ground. Gabriel steps over him casually, approaching me with a fire in his eyes. "Your friend is trouble for us, Johnathan. If he cannot learn to accept our ways, he will need to leave. Or else I'm afraid he'll be joining our dear Brother Robinson before long."

"Captain Peter told us on our way in here that so long as we follow the laws, we can stay. He never said anything about accepting your barbaric rites!" A flame ignites inside me, familiar and frightening. Rage. Rage against these sheep that just crucified a haunted man because he couldn't let go of his past! "What kind of sanctuary is this that you have to stand by and watch as other wastelanders get strung up to rot?"

"You are wrong, child. We did not kill him because he could not let go of his past. We punished him because when offered the chance to repent for his sins, he turned us away at his door."

Did…Did he just read my mind? Why is that familiar? Did he do that yesterday?

Sister Christina, one of the robed figures, approaches us and explains, "By abandoning his kin, he committed a tragic sin. That sin came here to us, and it plagued our community. By harboring a man who would betray our God, we put the community at risk. We offered him choices to cleanse him of sin, and he refused to listen to us." She holds a silver cross in her hand, just as she had the previous day.

Gabriel continues for her, "The necessity of removing sin from our home is the same as plucking a tick from a precious pet—that is to say that one diseased speck of flesh can infect the whole creature. So, in the name of our Lord, we crucify those who refuse repentance. In this way, we rid the disease from our home and punish his sins." His hands meet at his chest in a symbol of prayer.

The fire in my chest is blazing now. Not as hot as usual but still very painful. That this man would claim to do the Lord's work in killing others who refuse to agree with him bothers me. I don't necessarily care for God or the practice of Christianity, but this goes against so many fundamental truths. What little I paid attention to in the Vault taught me that! How can he claim to be holy if he's murdering those who go against him?

My hand twitches—just like the day before with the raiders. If I only had a gun right now, Gabriel would die. I feel it in my muscles, in the back of my thoughts.

Scott laughs as he clambers to his feet, apparently not unconscious. With a shake of his head, the words that come pouring from him are filled with malice. "Eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth. Fundamental laws of vengeance, of justice. There were people that practiced that philosophy almost religiously, two hundred years ago. See how that turned out?" My heart skips a beat as he reaches his hand into a tight pocket. Quickly, almost too fast for me to register, there's a gun in his hand aimed directly for Gabriel.

"Stop!" I shout instinctively. I don't agree with their practices, but there's no way this can end well for any of us. I try to stand up only to feel some cold weight wash over me, freezing me in place. My eyes open wide as his finger hugs the trigger.

Within minutes, we've gone from wanting lunch, to witnessing a crucifixion, to murdering our hosts. The fire inside me dies out as blood pours from Gabriel's chest. I didn't hear the gunshot. I don't hear his cries as his face twists in pain. I don't hear the sound of gunfire ring out as the rest of the robed citizens retaliate. All I see is blood—first Gabriel's and then Scott's. Crimson. Death.

And then…

I collapse, paralyzed and mute, the chill in the air smothering me.

…

An intense pressure bursts from my throat as dead weight rolls off of my body. I scream, my senses completely overloaded by confusion, my words unintelligible even to me. My muscles twitch violently; my eyes register nothing but the brightest white light; no sound reaches my ears aside from that of running water. Cold liquid swallows my body, I feel, as my senses begin to return to me.

"Settle down child and let me work!" a stern feminine voice calls out, a solid slap to the back of my head snapping me to attention.

She's old, dressed in thick black robes with an elegant pair of glasses resting on the bridge of her nose. Her eyes appear to shine with knowledge, or perhaps understanding. As I settle down, I start to realize where exactly I am: a bathtub in some small shack. Where in relation to the alley I can't know, but…I'm alive.

"You certainly were having a fit for the longest time child. Is it your sins that weigh so heavy on your heart?" She clutches a thick rag, drawing my hair back with one hand and scrubbing the side of my face with the other. I'm still too confused to react, but I sense no malice in her words or actions. She isn't accusing me of anything; she's just asking. "No, surely not. Perhaps you're afraid for your comrades—the raider and old man?"

To hear someone say it so bluntly, that Scott is a raider, kind of catches me off guard. And then the sound of gunfire echoes in my head and the image of Scott falling to the ground in agony swallows my sight.

Just as I feel the panic swelling in my chest, the woman pinches me back to the real situation. "I guess that's a yes, hmm? You don't have to worry about them. The raider's been washed and is resting in your new house, while the old man is having a grand time associating with our other elderly citizens." She smiles warmly, dipping her rag into the water and bringing it to my chest.

I finally understand what's going on: I'm being bathed by the old woman. So I'm… But why does this sound familiar? Isn't this what Scott told me had happened before I woke up? And she said Scott was resting in our 'new house.' So…this is before our little exchange? Did I…imagine his responses to my answers? Was all of that just one sick dream? I knot my eyebrows in confusion, trying not to seem too desperate for answers.

"Since you're conscious, would you care to finish the job?" she offers me the rag, her hand unsteady. I take it silently, understanding that she probably isn't too fond of washing full-grown adults. The fact that she even put me in here is a kindness I never thought I'd see in the wastes.

She gets up from her stool and turns toward the door, taking long strides toward it. My voice escapes me before I can catch it, "Thank you ma'am."

She laughs, "All in a day's work, child. Now, once you're ready, we have a fresh set of clothes waiting for you in the other room. They're only on loan until yours get clean, though." In one swift step she opens and passes through the door, closing it behind her without breaking the flow. It's a motion she's performed countless times before, I can tell.

But now I'm left alone with my thoughts racing, my body feeling foreign to me. What have I just experienced? I watched Scott get pumped full of led. I felt the horror of seeing that man crucified. I remember my nerves shaking as the robed wastelanders turned towards us. I heard my voice call out as I tried to stop Scott from killing Gabriel.

So why am I here, and why didn't she mention any of that? Why did she talk as if Scott's sitting in our little hut safe and sound? Was any of it real? Was it a premonition—some sick joke?

The door opens without warning and the old woman walks in with two steaming bowls. The familiar smell of oatmeal fills my nostrils even before she announces it. "You must be starving after walking all the way to town! Mr. Edson tells me you've come from White Bluff with those Brotherhood toughs; how sickening! This may not look like much," she sets the bowl on the ground beside the tub, "but it's the finest oatmeal this side of the Mississippi!"

"Thank you, Ma'am," I repeat, only this time on purpose. And then I consider something odd. "Why do you have another bowl?" It may be rude to hear me say it out loud, but I have to know.

She smiles warmly and sighs, "Even through his objections, that friend of yours must be starving. I'm going to drop this off with him at your house on my way to see Brother Robinson. Poor dear's been having night terrors these last few days…" She turns toward the door without a second glance.

The pieces connect and I jump to life, "Scott's allergic to oats!"

"Is he?" She looks at me with absolute horror, then places the bowl down beside my other one. "I'm glad you said something; the last thing I want is an accidental homicide on my hands! Maybe some bread and Brahmin milk will hold him over until lunch?" With another grin she exits the room before any more words can be exchanged.

Brahmin milk and bread. That's what Scott said they gave him after he recovered from the allergic reaction. So…does this mean he'll avoid the reaction entirely? Did I just save them the trouble of almost killing him? I…

I start scrubbing myself with the thick rag, trying to hurry the process up. It feels good to wash the dirt from the past few days away, but at the same time I don't stop to enjoy it. I need to get to our hut and see Scott, to know that whatever I witnessed never really happened. I kind of also want to be there if she tells him I told her he was allergic to oats. I wonder what he'd think about me being 'psychic,' even if he doesn't believe in Prophets.

I'm in the tub for maybe a minute after she's gone before I step out and wrap myself in the large towel she left for me, taking time to grab the bowls of oatmeal to eat on the way. As I step into the next room, a young man forces a set of average clothes into my hands and I dress quickly.

Oatmeal in hand, clothes on my back, and a destination in mind, I set out away from the bathhouse. And hell, I'm slightly cleaner than I was a few hours before!


	14. Chapter 12

**Breaking Point**

"Mr. Scott you must settle down!"

The old woman's voice is panicked and angry, though that's the least of my concerns at the moment.

"I'll settle down once this bastard answers my questions!"

The barrel of his magnum presses hard against my temple, his other arm pinning my throat to the wall of our little shack. I stare into his eyes, mistrust and confusion raging within them. I can't say I blame him, considering I predicted his oat allergy and the number of Jet doses he had in his bag.

"How many raiders were with me when we met?" His finger reaches his trigger as he asks, waiting for the wrong answer.

How could that question prove my innocence? "Four. The two men in rags, the kid, and the girl in metal armor." It's a simple question, one that can't possibly hold much weight.

"Good…" he sighs, easing up just a little bit. "What's my real name?"

Real name? "Scott Tanner," I answer almost too confidently, no hesitation. The question is weird, but I guess it's an important one.

He stares into my eyes, his face a mixture of doubt and relief, until relief finally takes over completely. Backing off of me, he holsters his gun and grunts, "So they didn't do anything to you? You aren't hurt?" His behavior seems weird, even compared to my vision's version of him.

The old woman titters, "You do not have to trust us, Mr. Scott, but I promise we would not go out of our way to hurt any of our visitors." She attempts to approach him and receives a backhand slap in the process.

My jaw drops and she turns to the side, biting her lip in obvious frustration. Scott snaps, "Tell that to the dick that cracked me over the head with a bat!" He rubs the top of his head gently before stomping toward the beds in the shack.

"Bat?" I sigh, walking to the woman's side. She glances at me with eyes of…pity? There's no anger in them, just pity.

"As soon as you and the creepy priest disappeared up those stairs, someone knocked me out cold with a baseball bat! Then I woke up here, in weird clothes with no armor."

Recovering quickly from the shock of his outburst, the old woman sighs, "Some of our people are jumpy. They don't trust easily—same as you. When visitors arrive, especially one who associates with raiders, they get trigger happy. It was for the best anyway." He sends her a fiery glare, almost expecting her to continue. She finally chuckles, "Would you have really consented to a bath if you were conscious? The amount of elbow grease that went into scraping the grime from you nearly killed me!"

"It…does feel nice…" he sighs, staring at his hands with a look of nostalgic bliss.

She smiles warmly as she heads to the door, "I have to go see Brother Robinson now. His night terrors are steadily getting worse." As she opens the door, an intense scream bursts through the door.

"No! Please, stop, no! Help!"

The voice of the man on the cross. It's not muffled, but I'd recognize it anywhere. The voice of the man that led us to our deaths in my vision. And despite the outcome of my premonition, I have to follow it! I'm out the door even before the old woman, my heart racing as I remember the last time this happened. I look back for barely a second to see Scott following me, magnum in hand. Even the old woman is keeping up, her robes pulled off of the ground to reveal heavy boots and…reinforced leather armor? I admire that.

The voice doesn't take us near as far this time. Rather than a series of winding alleys, we simply wind our way through the huts on this side of the town until we reach one where the door has been kicked open. There's blood on the ground in a small trail, leading back behind the radio station. I hurry on my way.

I catch up to the trail just as I reach the station, and what do you guess was there…

"You…" I whisper breathlessly, my vision coming back in full force. Four robed citizens of the town, a cross, and a young man being readied for crucifixion. I shake my head in disbelief before crying out, "Stop! This is barbaric!"

The figures turn instantly to face me, the unmistakable face of Father Gabriel meeting me in the morning light. He laughs, "No my son, this is justice. Repentance. The cost of sin." He flips open his Bible to recite a passage and a single passage comes to my mind.

As he opens his mouth to speak, I cut him off, "The Lord preserveth all them that love him: but all the wicked will he destroy! Psalm 145:20! If you think for a second that crucifying a man who refuses to 'repent' makes you a devout follower, you're dead wrong, Gabriel!"

His jaw drops as I speak, the book in his hand tumbling to the ground with a dusty thud. He grips the rosary at his neck and falls to his knees, arms outstretched to the sky. The other robed figures look to each other, confusion and hesitation filling their actions.

Father Gabriel cries out, "The Prophet's words are truth! In all the years I've followed her, she's spoken high praises of a boy that would challenge our ways, would reform our laws by setting examples in action. She's warned me, challenged my authority, but never once has her prophesied boy arrived…" In one swift motion he pulls a gun from behind his back and aims it at me. His kind, religious persona seems to shatter instantly, his eyes filling with a demented rage as his grin stretches wide.

Even when Scott arrives with the old woman, gun in hand, Gabriel doesn't miss a beat. His fellow robed figures back away slowly, completely conflicted. The old woman snaps, "What in God's name are you doing, Gabriel? Don't be a fool!" His gun turns on her and she takes a few defiant steps forward.

Scott reaches my side and chuckles, "I knew it was too good to be true. Didn't wanna say it, but I knew."

My thoughts are racing now. I challenge his crucifixion idea and suddenly he's going to kill us all? How the hell does that work?! He's a priest, a man of God! Why would he just kill us?

"This place is safe. I've kept it safe! I've gathered new sheep to our flock, allowed Purity to spread her messages on the radio, and it was I that weeded out the dissent and those who would do us ill! I've kept this place running! By doing these horrible things, I've blessed the wastes with sanctuary! And you, a boy who abandoned his own little brother to suffer at the prodding needles of the Enclave Imposters, dares question my authority? My practices?"

This has taken an amazing turn for the worst. I mean, I honestly don't think it could have gotten any weirder! This priest is gonna blow my brains out, and all because I didn't want some random guy I don't know to get crucified. Why is it I choose to be a good guy at the wrong times? The school, the Vault, and now this…

Things are easier when I'm angry, letting my instincts control me. When I'm thirsty for blood.

My thoughts are cut off by a voice in my head—one that I recognize clearly and yet seems so foreign to me. I've only ever heard it on the radio of my Pip-Boy. _"Gabriel speaks big and bold, feigns authority over his sheep. His confidence and words inspire those around him, so they trust his words. But check your eyes, child. What is missing from this situation that's in every other fight you've been in?"_ The voice fades and my eyes scan my field of view instinctively. Something that's missing?

There's a man with a weapon—check. My being unarmed or helpless—seems common enough. There's blue tags everywhere, people who refuse to join the fight—okay. But where there's blue tags, there should be red tags…

There's no red tag! Gabriel's tag isn't hostile! Does that mean he's bluffing? He is, isn't he? He's a man of God down to his core, even if he has to pretend to be violent to keep his control. A bluff.

I step forward, his attention returning to me. Scott attempts to stop me with a hand to the shoulder, but I brush him off with a shrug. I continue a forward march, the preacher's hands growing unsteady. I sigh, "It doesn't have to be this way. None of this has to happen. You're a preacher, Gabriel, nothing more. You aren't a witness, a judge, or a jury. You're here to tell others about God's word, but as far as punishing those who sin…" His gun lowers as I speak.

The voice comes back to my head, _"Good, child. You've disarmed the bomb, now deactivate it completely. Gabriel is dangerous to the wasteland, even more than you can imagine. He must be dealt with accordingly."_ A twinge of guilt shoots through me as I grip the gun in the preacher's hand.

He gives it away easily enough, staring at the ground in empty confusion. I can't say I understand what's happening. Why would he turn on us like this, and why did he surrender so easily. I take the gun in hand and aim it at him, just as the voice told me to.

As he hears the safety click, he looks up at me with tears in his eyes. He whispers with shallow breath, "And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil: For thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory, forever. Amen." He smiles and chuckles, "I've seen this day a thousand times in my nightmares. Be careful, Johnathan Neal of Vault 95. Don't let the wastes devour your spirit. Don't let power corrupt your soul."

I stare into his eyes with little thought. I have nothing to say to him, the man I'm about to kill for a reason I can't even identify. I'm hugging the trigger, ready to end it whenever the time comes.

"Do not be fooled by false friendships. Do not be fooled by false enemies. Do not be fooled by false prophets and shepherds."

He closes his eyes and lowers his head to the ground. I feel he's at peace with his fate, and so I pull the trigger. I expect him to fall limp as the bullet passes through him, but something much more grotesque occurs; his body explodes into chunks of flesh, his blood creating a cloud where he was kneeling. The robed figures drop to their knees, heads bowed in prayer. I simply stand in awe, the sight of the death sending a shiver up my spine.

Scott's quick to reach the man on the cross on the ground, cutting him free before much damage can be done by his restraints. The old woman joins him, helping the man to his feet. He cries out, "Thank you, all of you! You saved my life!" He rushes around the kneeling figures to my side, wrapping me in a tight hug. As he attempts to leave, I grasp his shoulder firmly and pull him towards me.

I whisper to him, "I saved you from Gabriel, but you have to save yourself from your sins. I can't protect you from whatever power holds this place in submission." Even if God isn't real, something holds power over this place. The voice in my head, Purity, has some kind of power. I just know it. I went up those stairs to meet her and I don't remember anything until waking up in the tub.

I need to see her, know what she's about.

I need to know why Gabriel turned on us so crazily, only to give up and let himself die.

And why did Purity tell me to kill him? What exactly was their relationship?

No matter what answers I find, one thing remains true: I abandoned my family so that I could come here and be safe. And so far, the wasteland hasn't been agreeing with me on that front. Maybe all this chaos is a sign that I should go back to White Bluff, or maybe it's just the way the wasteland works now.

There are so many questions I need answered and I feel as if there's very little time to answer them.

I turn toward the radio station beside us, knowing that at least one answer has to rest within. As the robed figures pray and the old woman tends to Gabriel's corpse, Scott joins me in my stride into the back entrance of the building. I think I understand his curiosity, his desire to know about Purity. I don't remember much about the chapel from yesterday, but I know she lives on the upper floors.

I can't help but feel there's more to Gabriel's change than just some prophecy Purity told him.

_Footnote: Level Up!  
>Perks Added: Bloody Mess<br>Effects: You do an additional 5% damage to all enemies. And, if the timing is just right and the stars align perfectly, a killing bullet can make its target explode on impact!_


End file.
